Don't Go
by ameliagianna
Summary: AU: Timeline starts after 2x15 'Peter'. When Peter discovers his true origin, he must navigate the ups and downs of life in a universe where he wasn't born.
1. The Confrontation

*Knock, knock, knock*

Olivia looks up from the case file she was just reading. She pulls her glasses off and sets them gently on the table as she stands. Dressed only in her loose Nothwestern t-shirt and a baggy pair of black sweats hanging off her waist, she pads her way to the front door. She looks through the peephole to see Peter, in his usual peacoat and dark jeans. She pauses a second, hand frozen on the doorknob. After a few seconds, she sighs and opens the door. "Hello." She some hair behind her ear nervously.

"Hi. Can I come in?" He looks in her eyes, searching for something. She looks away.

"Sure." She returns to the table where she was reading and picks up her glass. He amber liquid slips past her lips and glides down her throat. The glass is empty in a heartbeat, and she pulls it away and stares at it longingly.

Peter clears his throat, hoping to get her attention.

"Oh. Would you like one?" She places the glass back on the table and moves towards the cabinet where the bottle resides.

He nods. "Please." He undies his coat and slides it off. Draping it over the back of a vacant chair, he moves in the opposite direction of Olivia, distracted.

She grips the bottle in one hand and an empty glass in the other as she returns to the table. She is silent as she pours them half full.

Peter moves back towards the table to retrieve his drink. Olivia watches, surprised, as he shoots back the contents of the glass in a single, swift motion. He grimaces as he swallows,, and places the glass back on the wooden tabletop.

All too aware if the of the week's past events, Olivia's one is anxious as she asks, "Somethin' on your mind?"

He drops heavily in to the vacant chair at the table. " You could say that, I guess," Peter sighs and rubs his temples roughly.

Olivia mirrors him as she also empties her glass and sits down in her chair. She pours them both another drink, though she doesn't touch her glass. Her reaches for his, but does not lift it to his lips. He taps his fingers on the outside, staring into the amber. He lifts his eyes to Olivia's, and hers drop to the open case file on the table.

"I'm sorry to come here so late." He takes a small sip of his drink as Olivia glances at the clock. 1:42am.

"It's fine. I was up, anyway. She closes the file and puts it aside.

"I can see that," he says with a smirk.

"Just looking over a few things before I turn it in to Broyles."

They sit, silent, staring into their glasses on the table.

"I couldn't stop staring at you, today."

Olivia takes a drink. "Really? I didn't notice."

Peter chuckles sarcastically. " Probably because you were avoiding looking at me. You'v been avoiding me all week."

Olivia stretches across the table for the bottle. "No, I haven't," she counters, unsure of her own words.

"Yes,you have. Ever since the night we went out. When I asked Walter about it, he said he didn't know. When I asked him about how you two whisper to each other and get angry over little things, he said the same thing. I just want the truth."

Olivia's cell phone rings.

She lifts it to her ear. "Dunham."

Walter's voice floods her ear. "Hello, Olivia? I'm afraid I've done something terribly wrong." His voice is shaky, as if he'd been crying. "I told Peter the truth. And now he's gone." Olivia looked at Peter. Walter's breathing was ragged. "What am I going to do? I can't lose him!"

"Walter, it's okay. Peter's here." At his father's name, Peter's eyes find Olivia's.

The older man breathes a shaky sigh of relief. "How is he? Is he angry?"

Olivia watches Peter a moment. "It's going to be fine, Walter."

"I know I've asked a lot of you recently, but you'll make sure he's okay? That he's not leaving?"

"Yes. Goodbye, Walter." she hangs up the phone and places it back on the table. "He's worried about you."

Peter sighs. "Well, right now, he deserves a lot more than worry." After a few moments of silence and the last of his drink, Peter reaches for the bottle.

"I knew there was something going on. So I told him I would just go ask you, and he freaked. He sat me down and told me this long story about how I'm from the other universe and he saved my life. He said you saw it that night. The glimmer." Peter's voice was tense, angry. He was holding back to keep from yelling. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice quieter, hurt.

Olivia sighed. "Walter asked me not to. He wanted to tell you himself." She took a drink.

Peter was silent for a long time. Eventually, he whispered, "He kidnapped me. He broke both worlds to take me from mine."

"You would have died, Peter. You did."

"But what about them? My parents?"

"I don't know. But Walter raised you. He loved you. He has lived with that hanging over him for years and years. I'm not saying what he did was the best choice, but it was the right one."

Peter swallowed back another drink. Olivia could tell he wasn't doing well. She poured herself a final glass then stood to put away the bottle.

She had her hand on the back of her chair when he stood. He wasn't drunk, but he was close. Mostly, he was just upset. His eyes burned from holding back tears.

"Can you still see it?" he asked quietly. "The glimmer?" His eyes were closed, as if braced for the worst.

"No," Olivia sighed. "It wore off after a couple days." She could see the relief in his eyes, but also the pain. She could tell he wasn't planning on sticking around. His hand moved toward his jacket, and Olivia panicked. "Don't go," she whispered. She could feel the fear creeping in, and she fought it. "I know your first thought is to get as far away from here as possible, but don't. I don't think Walter could take it if you left."

Peter moved closer to Olivia. Dangerously close. She could feel his warmth, even though they weren't touching. Yet. "What about you? What would you do if I left?"

Her breath hitched in her throat as he brought a hand to her cheek. She could feel it, again. The fear. A flash of gold surrounded him. He moved closer, his breath on her face. She closed her eyes to block it out. "Don't go," she whispered again, just before closing the distance between them.

Their lips moved together, urgent. One of Peter's hands brushed through her hair, the other around her waist pulling her close. Her hands rested on his cheeks, holding their faces together. Her body relaxed, molding into his. A perfect fit. He felt it, too. His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt to rub his cool fingers on the soft skin of her lower back.

When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against his, eyes still closed. She wasn't afraid of this anymore, but of it still being there. The glimmer. Peter's other hand moved from her hair to her chin, tilting it up to face him. Her eyes opened to find his. And there was no glimmer.

Her lips crashed down on his and her hands tangled in his hair. Now both his hands were on her waist. He gripped her tightly as their mouths moved in sync.

Peter backed Olivia into the kitchen counter, then lifted her onto it. Her hands had moved from his hair to his shirt, fumbling to unbutton it. She slid her hands under the fabric and let her hand res over his heart. It was beating fast, as was her own. She slid her hands up and pushed the shirt off his shoulders. She pulled out of the kiss and looked into Peter's ice blue eyes. In a single move, her shirt was off as well and their lips latched back together, nothing between their pressed bare chests.

Peter's hands back on Olivia's hips, they slid down to the top of her sweatpants and pulled. She lifted herself, allowing them to slide from underneath her, down her legs and on to the floor.

Peter lifted her off the counter and her legs hooked around his waist. His lips moved from hers to her jaw and down her neck to where it met her collarbone.

When they reached the bedroom, Olivia unwrapped herself and hey stood at the edge of the bed. Peter still kissing her neck, she began to unbuckle his belt. Once loose, he kicked off his shoes, the pants sliding off him to the floor. Both of them left only in their underwear, they fell back onto the bed.

Olivia quickly rolled on top of Peter. He began to laugh at her obvious preference for dominance, but was cut off by her mouth on his again. She pressed against him, and he groaned into her mouth. She did it again, and he flipped them over. He pulled away from her and brought a hand up to caress her cheek. He gave her a long, soft kiss before whispering, "I'm not going anywhere."


	2. The Truth

Olivia is the first to wake up. She is not surprised to see Peter's eyes closed and hear his shallow breathing when she regains consciousness. His arms wrapped firmly around her bare torso, she obviously isn't going anywhere without waking him. Her hand comes up to brush across his rough stubble, and she leans to place a gentle kiss on his lips.

Without warning, hey are suddenly tangled back together and the kiss has deepened. Olivia laughs against Peter's lips and it sounds like bells to his ears. "Good morning," she giggles. He rests his forehead against hers and rubs the back of her neck.

"Good morning," he replies tiredly. His eyes are still closed, and Olivia watches his face as he lays there, silent. They do not fall back asleep, but simply lay there holding each other.

Minutes could be hours and hours could be minutes, Olivia loses all sense of time as they lay together in bed. The only thing that lets her know to get up is her stomach, which grumbles lightly with hunger.

Peter laughs. "I guess that means it's time for breakfast." He sits up and looks back at Olivia. "Eggs and bacon sound good?"

She nods, smiling. "And toast," she adds. She watches as he leans over to retrieve his boxers. He pulls them on and stands, leaving the bedroom and heading for the kitchen. Olivia lays in bed a few more minutes. Eventually, she stands, holding a sheet around her and pads her way to the bathroom. She checks herself in the mirror. Her hair is slightly disheveled, but otherwise she looks the same as always. She smiles at her reflection.

She leans over to turn on the shower. After checking the water temperature, she drops the sheet and steps underneath the running water. She lets the water cascade over her, relaxing all her muscles and warming her skin. Going through her normal routine, she's out of the shower in under ten minutes.

Stepping out in to the cold air of the bathroom, she quickly grabs a towel off the hook and wraps it around her.

Just as she wipes the condensation off the mirror, Peter calls, "Breakfast." She looks back at her reflection again and something catches her eye this time. There's a red mark where her neck meets her collarbone, where Peter was kissing her the night before. Her fingers graze over the spot tenderly, and she finds herself smiling.

After retrieving some clean clothes, Olivia makes her way to the kitchen. "Mmm," she sighs, the aroma hitting her nose. "Smells amazing." Peter, who has put back on his own clothes, places a plate abundant with food at her place at he table. He hold a fork out towards Olivia and she takes it.

"Dig in," he says as he places his own plate at the table. They both quickly empty their plates and Peter moves them to the sink. He flips on the faucet and rolls up his sleeves.

Olivia moves behind him. "Oh, Peter, you don't have to do that. Just leave them."

He laughs at her. "Let me."

He continues to scrub the plate in his hand as Olivia moves back to the table. She flips open the case file she left there and stares at it, not reading the words in front of her. "You should go talk to Walter," she says suddenly.

Olivia looks up to see Peter's reaction. He says nothing, but sighs heavily and scrubs the dish a little harder.

"Peter."

He sighs again, puts the dish down and turns off the faucet. He leans over the counter, head in his hands. "I know."

Peter's mind can't help but go back to the last time he spoke with Walter.

"Hey, Walter. Have you noticed the way Olivia's been acing lately?"

His father had been working on some project in the lab.

"What was that, Peter?" He looked up from his notes.

"Olivia. Is it just me, or is she acting weird?"

Walter's face turned grave. "I-I don't know." He immediately turned his attention back to his work.

But Peter was suspicious already. "You know, you both have been awfully strange the past week. Did something happen?"

"Of course not, Peter. I'm just working on something..." he trailed off.

"Walter, I know you're lying. If you won't tell me, I'll just go ask Olivia." He stood, as if to leave.

"No!" Walter cried out, surprising Peter. "No, son, don't go."

"Well then, Walter, you're just going to have to tell me what's going on."

"I-I can't. I can't tell you! If I tell you the truth..." he went quiet, as if it was painful to finish the thought.

"Walter, what is going on?" He said each word as if they were different sentences.

Walter fell into his chair. He was obviously distressed. "As a boy, you were very sick."

Peter sighed. "And I almost died. Yeah, you told me. You found some miraculous cure. No matter how you tell it, I still don't remember."

"No, son, you don't understand. You did die," he whispered.

"Walter, I didn't die. I'm right here."

Walter was crying now. "You didn't. He did. My son."

Peter's mind didn't comprehend. "Wait, what do you mean 'your son'?"

Walter's tone got very serious. "I mean, Peter, is that you are not from this world."

There was a long silence, so thick you couldn't cut it with a steak knife.

"I didn't synthesize a cure fast enough. He died. But you, you were still alive! And the other Walter almost found a cure. He did find it, but he didn't know. And then you were going to die again. But I knew! So I made a dose and crossed over." He put his hand over his heart. "It broke. The vial with the medicine to cure you, it was destroyed. I had to make a decision, there wasn't enough time to go back and make more. So I brought you back here, to give you the treatment. I was going to bring you back." His voice got quiet. "I was. But your mother... Your mother saw you and she couldn't lose you, not again. So we kept you, and raised you in he place of the son we lost."

"You kidnapped me!" Peter's voice was loud, angry. "You took me from my life, my home!"

"Son, I-"

"I am not your son."

The lab was quiet except for Walter's sobs.

"What does this have to so with Olivia?"

Walter lifted his head from his hands. "The n-night she c-came to the house. Sh-she knew."

Peter sighed. "I glimmered."

Walter was practically curled up in a ball on the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he repeated between sobs.

Peter had nothing else to say. He left the lab. He called Astrid and asked her to check on Walter in the morning.

Then he headed to Olivia's.

When Peter snapped out of it, Olivia's hand was on his shoulder.

"Peter?"

He looked up at her from his hands. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards her, into an embrace.

Peter thought it was strange, Olivia comforting him. Usually it was her who needed comforting, who was holding back tears. Now, it was him.

He inhaled sharply, pulling himself together. "I'll call Astrid, see if he's still at the lab."


	3. The Incident

Olivia could feel Peter's anxiety on the drive over to the lab. He fidgets with his hands and stares intently out the window, not seeing the quick-moving landscape beyond the glass.

She reaches over and places her right hand over his left, and he turns to look at her.. She gives him a small, understanding smile.

He doesn't return it, simply turning to look back out the window, but he interlaces her fingers with his. She gently rubs the back of his hand with her thumb, and turns her attention back to driving.

At the Harvard lot, Peter tenses. He grips Olivia's hand a little tighter and sucks in a sharp breath as the building comes into view.

She turns the key in the ignition and shuts off the engine. Gently pulling her hand away to release her seatbelt, she climbs out of the vehicle and walks around to the other side.

She opens the passenger door. Peter still hasn't moved. His gaze had fallen on the nearby structure, where the lab is located.

Mindlessly, he unhooks himself and climbs out of the car; wordlessly, he takes Olivia's hand again and they start towards the building.

Within, Peter halts in front of the door to the lab.

He glares at it, as if he could will it away with a single thought. Olivia steps in front of him, blocking his view.

"Peter," she says simply. He meets her gaze, her eyes full of the knowing and understanding of his hostility towards his father. She had felt it once, too.

Olivia inhales deeply. "Whatever happens, whatever is said or done in that room once we enter it, I want you to know that I am with you, one hundred percent." She pauses, then exhales. "But I also want you to know that I think you should give him the benefit of the doubt. I am not saying that what he did was right, I am not asking you to go in there and pretend that it didn't happen; I am only asking that you listen."

Before he could even begin to think of replying, she had turned and opened the door. She entered the lab and disappeared around the corner, headin for Walter's office.

Peter takes several slow, deep breaths before he moves toward the door. He pulls it closed behind him.

Olivia emerges from Walter's office alone.

"I don't think he's here," she states, scanning the lab over again.

Peter shakes his head. "Astrid said she came in this morning and he was here. She was going to wait with him for us." He too scans the room.

It is empty, except for Gene.

Olivia pulls her cell from her pocket and dials. She brings it to her ear and waits.

"Astrid? Hi. We're at the lab now. Where are you and Walter?" As she listens, her face tenses, and she brings up her other hand to run through her hair. "Well, did he say why?" Peter moves closer, and Olivia bites her lip. "Okay, we'll wait here. Thanks, Astrid."

She ends the call and looks to Peter. "Walter had a meltdown and told her he needed to go home. He said he needed something. Astrid's still with him and is going to bring him back."

She moves towards the bench that sits against the railing that wraps around the lab. Peter sits next to her and leans forward, head in his hands. "Did he say what?" he asks, an irritated edge in his voice.

"No, he—" Olivia is cut off by the faint ringing of her cellphone. "It's Astrid," she tells him as she brings it to her ear once again. "Hello?"

Peter can't hear what is said, but it's loud.

Olivia's face turns grave as she stands. "We're on our way." She hangs up and moves quickly to the door. "Walter's taken something and he's seizing, we gotta go."

The two rush out of the lab.

Olivia pulls up to the Bishop house. Her and Peter quickly get out and run up to the door.

"An ambulance is on its way," she says as they enter. Astrid is holding Walter on the floor of the living room. His body is shaking and flailing in her arms.

"I-I don't know what happened," she cries. "I walked in and he had just injected something. Then he started seizing and I didn't know what to do!"

Peter kneels on the ground next to them. "Walter?" he yells. He takes a rough hold on his father's face. "Walter, what did you take?"

Walter's eyes struggle to focus. "P-Peter?" he chokes. His hand falls open and a vial rolls on to the floor.

Peter picks it up hastily and reads the label. "It's pentazocine. He's overdosing. We have to get some naloxone in him, now. Olivia, there should be some in the kitchen. Check all the cabinets."

Olivia disappears into the other room. Peter turns Walter back to him. "Walter, why did you do this?"

Walter is still convulsing. He weakly reaches for Peter's face. "I-I didn't want…" his voice fades.

"Walter? Walter!"

"I didn't want to h-hurt you anymore." His eyes fall closed.

Olivia runs back in and hands Peter another vial. He takes a clean syringe from the table nearby and quickly fills it. He injects it into Walter's leg.

After a few moments, he stops shaking. His body is still in Astrid's arms except for his ragged and shallow breathing. Peter rests his forehead against Walter's and breathes a sigh of relief.

A man rushes into the room.

"Someone call emergency assistance?"

A woman follows in behind him. She runs to Walter, and places her fingers against his neck. His pulse is uneven. We gotta get him to a hospital. What happened?" she asks Peter.

"He—uh," he forces out. "He injected himself with pentazocine. But I already administered naloxone."

It is all a blur as the medics move Walter out to the ambulance. Astrid climbs in behind the medic, and then they are gone.

Olivia finds Peter still in the living room, kneeling on the floor.

"He—" Peter chokes out. "He said he didn't want to hurt me anymore."

Olivia kneels down beside him. Peter falls into her arms, and sobs into her shoulder.

At the hospital, Peter sits beside Walter's bed. He is still unconscious.

Peter leans in towards him. "Why, Walter? Why would you try to kill yourself?"

"He didn't." Peter looks up to see Astrid in the doorway. "The doctor said that he didn't take enough to kill himself, only slip into a coma."

Peter sighs and lets his head fall into his hands.

Astrid takes a few steps inside the room. "He told me what happened," she says. "He told me everything."

Peter doesn't speak. He looks at Walter again, hand resting over his mouth.

"You know, I think he already told me, in a way. Back when you got infected with that virus, from the oil samples and we had to quarantine that high-rise. He told me, 'I can't let him die again.' At the time, I thought it was just Walter being Walter. But that was what he meant."

Peter looks to Astrid. "This isn't what I wanted."

Astrid moves closer to Peter. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Peter, you have no idea how much this man loves you."

He squeezes his eyes shut, and a single, hot tear rolls down his cheek. The hand on his shoulder disappears, and Astrid is gone.

"Peter?" Olivia whispers, her hand on his shoulder lightly shaking him from sleep.

His body shoots upright in the chair, his back cracking from the uncomfortable sleeping position. "Is he awake?" he asks, his voice gravelly and uneven.

Olivia casts a glance at the bed, then back at Peter. "No. I brought coffee, if you want it."

Peter nods and accepts the cup. He holds it in between both hands, letting the heat warm his palms. He sips at it cautiously, then places it on the table beside the bed.

He pulls Olivia, who had been standing in front of him, into his lap. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in close. She slips her arm over his shoulder and lets the coffee in her hand rest on her knee. The arm around him leads to her other hand on his cheek, turning him to face her.

"He's going to be fine," she murmurs. She gives him a small kiss on the forehead.

"I know," Peter whispers. He nuzzles into Olivia's neck and her hand tenderly strokes his hair.

They sit like that for several minutes, occasionally exchanging glances but not speaking.

A sharp intake of breath from the bed startles them both. When they look up, Walter is watching them with glassy, clouded eyes.

Olivia stands, freeing Peter from the confines of the chair and allowing him to go to Walter's side.

"Son?" he asks, his hand reaching for Peter's face like he did at the house. He looks into Peter's eyes for a moment, then to Olivia. When he finds Peter again, he smiles and asks, "Can I have some licorice?"


	4. The Possibilities

Olivia now sits in the chair beside Walter's hospital bed. Peter left to deal with the paperwork to discharge Walter.

Walter calmly chews on some Redvines Olivia got from a nearby vending machine.

"Walter, do you remember what happened?" Astrid asks from the other side of them room. She is leaning against the windowsill, the dark night sky behind her.

He takes a bite out of a fresh piece of licorice. "W-we were at the lab, w-waiting for Peter."

"No, Walter. You were at home. You asked Astrid to take you there. Do you remember why?"

Walter stopped chewing. "W-why? No, dear, I don't even recall going home, let alone _why_!"

Olivia sighs, defeated.

"O-Olivia?" Walter asks.

"Yes, Walter?" she replies impatiently.

"H-how is he?"

Olivia looks hard at Walter. "Well, he's upset. He's angry, he's feeling betrayed, he's confused…"

"What did you say I dosed myself with again?"

"Uh, penta-something. I don't remember." Olivia shakes her head.

"Pentazocine?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Walter?"

Walter doesn't speak. He was obviously thinking. He takes another bite of his licorice.

Footsteps echo down the hall, and Peter appears in the doorway.

"They want to hold him overnight, and I can't get him discharged until morning," he tells Olivia. He steps inside the room. He hasn't spoken to Walter since he awoke.

Olivia gives him a look, and stands. To Astrid, she says, "Why don't we go get some more coffee?"

Astrid nods, and the two women leave the room.

The chair now vacant, Peter approaches and drops himself into it. His hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck roughly.

"Peter?" Walter asks nervously.

"Yes, Walter?" he answers, similar to Olivia, with the same impatience in his tone.

"W-why did you give me the n-naloxone?"

Peter's hand stops on the back of his neck and falls back into his lap.

"I thought you were going to die," he says simply. His voice sounds tired, strained.

"B-but why did you try to save me?"

Peter looked at Walter, anger and hurt in his eyes. "Walter, how could you even ask me that? You don't honestly think that I would let you _die_, no matter what you've done?"

Walter takes a bite of his licorice and smiles. "No, I suppose not."

Peter sighs, confused. "Do you remember what you said to me back at the house, while you were seizing? You told me that you poisoned yourself because you didn't want to hurt me anymore. How did you think that _this_ wouldn't hurt me?"

Walter's smile falls. "I-I don't remember my intentions in overdosing on pentazocine, b-but I can infer that I had thought once I slipped into a coma that I would be out of the way and you could go on and live your life happily, without the reminders of what I had done."

A moment of silence passes, then Peter starts laughing quietly. "Walter, that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth."

Walter pauses, then laughs with him. "Y-yes, I suppose it is."

* * *

Walter had fallen asleep at the hospital. Astrid had agreed to stay with him, and Peter and Olivia had gone back to her apartment.

Sitting on the couch, watching television, Olivia was half asleep against Peter.

"Hey, Peter?" she asks, groggy.

"Hmm?"

"Could you ease up a bit?"

He looks at her, confused.

"On my back," she clarifies.

"Oh, Sorry," he mumbles, removing his hand.

"It's okay," she tells him, shifting between his legs and turning to face him. "It just felt like you were _burrowing_ through the muscle and into the bone."

He laughs, and wraps his hands around hers. "No, more burrowing. Promise."

Olivia smiles, then closes her eyes and rests her head on Peter's shoulder.

They lay like that for a while, and when the credits roll on whatever was playing in the background, Peter thinks Olivia has fallen asleep. He turns off the TV.

Her voice catches him off guard. "Are you okay?"

He sighs. "Right now, here, with you, I'm great. But tomorrow, or after that, I don't know. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Well, it's not like there's a self-help book on being from another universe," Olivia jokes. Peter could tell that, even as tired as she was, she was still trying to lighten up the situation.

"Mmm," Peter grunts a reply, unsure of what else to say.

"What do you think would've happened? If we had kissed that night at Massive Dynamic, what would be different?"

"I probably would've taken you home that night."

Olivia laughs, but says nothing.

"What do _you_ think would have happened?"

"Uh, I think that I would've let you take me home. But I think that maybe I would have seen that building, or you, glimmering."

"Why not?"

"Well, last night, before we kissed, you glimmered again."

Peter tensed.

"But then after, it was gone. I let the fear go. And I think that's what would have happened, that night. The ability would've faded with the fear."

Olivia, finished speaking, sits up again. He hand goes to Peter's face, tense and wrinkled with thought. She smoothes away the creases in his brow, and his eyes snap to hers.

She doesn't even need to say it out loud, her eyes say it for her; but she speaks anyway, wanting it to be solid between them: "We'll get through this, Peter. Together."

And because nothing he can think of would be enough of a reply, he simply repeats, "Together," with a firm nod.

She lifts her other hand, still entwined with his, to her lips and places feather-light kisses on his knuckles, never breaking eye contact.

He's so lost in her eyes, so riveted that he doesn't even think to stop his words. They come out in a single breath, as if exhaled, "I don't deserve you."

Olivia giggles lightly, breaking his trance. He smiles back at her.

"You know what, I'm taking you out to dinner tomorrow. I feel like I should take you on a proper date."

"Okay," she whispers, her smile widening.

"Okay," he agrees.

"I'm so tired. Can we go to bed?"

"We?"

She nods, standing. She holds out her hand to him and he takes it, and she leads him to the bedroom.

She lets his hand fall and crawls under the sheets of her bed. Peter joins her, and she curls up against him.

Olivia takes a fistful of his shirt and pulls him in, crashing their lips together.

When they pull apart, her grip loosens and her hand limply rests over his heart.

Within moments, they're asleep.

* * *

_It's cold. So cold._

_Ice cold._

_Peter can't breathe, under the water._

_He kicks, swimming upwards, but the ice above him is solid. Thick, too thick for his small hands to break._

_So cold, his arms and legs are numb. Even his toes feel nothing but ice and pinpricks._

_There are spots in his vision, obscuring the already cloudy water of Reiden Lake._

_Peter stops fighting. He is suspended in the water._

_After a minute, he makes out a figure under the water. It's human, and swimming towards him._

_He can hardly see, the image only clearing slightly with the closing distance. _

_He struggles, but brings his hand to rub his eyes. When he looks again, he's right in front of him._

_The other Peter._

_He holds out his hand, and Peter takes it._

_Peter knows he should be dead, being under for so long. But now he fights to stay alive, stay alert, as the identical boys swim deeper into the lake._

_When the boys reach the surface, there is a hole in the ice._

_Peter hooks his arms on the edge to climb out. _

_He slides himself onto the ice, and turns to help the other boy._

_When he turns back, he's face down in the water._

"_No!"_

_He reaches for him, but he slips under the water and disappears from sight._

_Peter goes to jump in, but arms are around his torso. He fights his unknown captor._

"_I have to save him!"_

"_No, Peter. You cannot save him. You are his replacement."_

_Peter turns to the voice._

_It's Olivia._

* * *

**A/N: Threw in a reference to the cute PO scene from 'Os' (3.16), because this is an AU which means it doesn't happen. But I liked it too much.**


	5. The Dream

_It's Olivia._

_But it's not._

_He knows it's Olivia, his Olivia, but she's younger that he ever knew her._

_She holds a single white tulip._

"_It's too late, Peter. He's gone. You have to stay."_

"_But what about my parents?"_

"_These are your parents." She gestures to Walter and Elizabeth, standing off to the side, watching._

"_No, my other parents. My real parents."_

_Elizabeth sobs at his words, falling into Walter's arms._

"_These are your parents now. They love you. They want you. All you have to do is stay."_

_Peter blinks, and the scene changes._

_No longer standing on a frozen Reiden Lake, he's at the lab. _

_He's not a child anymore._

_Olivia still stands before him, but she's back to normal. She still holds the white tulip._

_Instead of Walter and Elizabeth off to the side, it's Walter and Astrid._

"_Please, Peter. If you love me at all, then you have to stay. Please." A tear rolls down her cheek._

"_I do love you, Olivia. I do."_

"_Then why are you leaving?"_

"_I'm not leaving, Olivia. I told you I wouldn't."_

"_You lied."_

_Peter moves to grab Olivia, to embrace her and let her know he's staying, but the second he reaches her she's gone._

"_Olivia?"_

_Peter turns to look for her, and finds himself back on Reiden Lake._

_The ice below his feet cracks, and he falls into the icy water again._

_This time, something pulls him down. A hand around his ankle. He looks down and sees the Observer._

"_No!" he gurgles, swallowing the frozen water._

_The closer they get to the bottom, to the other side, the colder it gets. Something pulls him from the lake, and he's home._

* * *

Peter wakes, and he's shivering. Olivia's awake, and piling a third blanket on top of him.

"Olivia," he chokes out, flinging the blankets away and pulling her into his arms.

"Peter, you were shivering. I tried to wake you, but you were so out of it. I was just trying to warm you up."

"No, I'm fine now. I was having a bad dream."

Olivia pulls away just enough to look at his face. "I thought you said you didn't dream anymore," she says with a worried look.

"No, I said I don't remember dreaming, good or bad. But this, this was so real. I mean, you said I was shivering, right? So something about this dream was getting through."

"Well, what was your dream about?"

Peter settles back into the warm bed with Olivia in his arms.

"Well, it started in the lake…"

Olivia was once again asleep, but Peter couldn't relax enough to even try.

He replays the dream in his head again. He told Olivia most of what happened. He didn't tell her about the part where he told her he loved her.

He does, he loves her more than anything, but he knows it's too much for her. She isn't ready yet, so he waits.

The thing he couldn't wrap his head around was the younger version of her. How had he know what she looked like? What her voice sounded like?

Even if he had seen a photo of something, he had imagined her with such minute detail that he would've had to have seen her in person, spent time around her.

And what was the significance of the white tulip?

Peter lets his thoughts circle as he lay in the bed, holding a sleeping Olivia.

Before he knows it, it's morning. The sun creeps in through her curtains, and she stirs against him.

She breathes in and opens her eyes. Her eyes flit to his, the ice-blue dull and stormy with the loss of sleep.

Exhaling, she asks, "You didn't go back to sleep, did you?"

"No," he confesses, figuring she already knew the answer and him lying to her was pointless.

But when he sees the look on her face, he wishes he had lied, even if she saw through it.

She had wanted him to lie, to make her feel better about not staying up with him. But she was glad he hadn't, she didn't want them lying to each other or keeping secrets.

Not anymore.

Olivia climbs from the bed and walks over to her closet. She pulls open the door and scans the hangers.

Peter notices almost everything is black or gray, and a few white dress shirts for work.

But as she digs in the back corner, he catches a glimpse of some primary colors, a few blues and a red.

She tugs down a long sleeve baby blue shirt and hangs it on the door.

She pulls off the gray shirt she had worn the previous day and tosses it aside.

Peter takes a moment to look at her, the sunlight falling over her hair which falls over her back. She faces away from him, but he can tell she is smiling.

He doesn't know how he knows, but he does. And it makes him smile, too.

She tugs on the blue shirt and turns back to Peter, freeing her hair from where it had been trapped by the collar of her shirt.

"Coffee?" she asks, eyebrow arching up with her question.

Peter laughs lightly at the gesture. "Yeah."

He stands from the bed and follows Olivia out of the bedroom.

* * *

At the coffeehouse a few blocks from Olivia's apartment, Peter sips at his coffee and watches Olivia.

"What?" she asks playfully, catching his eyes locked on her.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug. He takes another sip. "Hey, what's your favorite flower?"

"Uh, I don't know. Why? Thinking about dinner?"

"No, just curious. Come on, you've got to have a favorite."

Olivia takes a sip of her coffee, thinking. "Uh, white tulips."

Peter almost chokes on his coffee. He clears his throat and asks, "Why that one?"

"I don't know," she answers. "I guess I've always like them. Since I was a kid."

Olivia meets his eyes, and they exchange a silent look that both makes her curious and confuses her.

Looking into his eyes, the blue that hypnotizes her, she feels a distant memory pulling at the back of her brain, one that won't surface on its own.

Peter feels it, too, staring at her olive-green irises that fit her so perfectly.

"Why do you ask?" she cuts in.

"You were holding one, in my dream. A white tulip."

"Huh," she says, and takes another sip of her coffee.

* * *

After coffee, Olivia and Peter head back to the hospital to pick up Walter.

He was already dressed and ready to go when they arrived.

"Let's hurry, Peter. I don't want to be here any longer."

Walter and his thing with hospitals. Ever since St. Claire's.

They checked him out and got back in Olivia's car.

The ride was silent, mostly.

"Peter, I'm sorry," Walter says.

None of them have to ask what he's sorry for: for taking Peter, for lying, for trying to make himself comatose.

This 'sorry' is universal.

But forgiveness is not.

"I know, Walter. I know."

When they arrived at the Bishop house, Olivia remained in the car while Peter walked Walter inside.

"Walter, the doctor said no medication, recreation or otherwise, for the rest of the week.

"Oh, drat."

Peter climbs the stairs and retreats to his room.

He drops into his bed, and glances at a photo of himself as a child, in a team uniform and holding a soccer ball.

It makes him wonder if it was really him. Or the other Peter. He couldn't remember.

"That was taken the summer after you were sick. You were finally healthy enough to play a sport, and we couldn't keep you from a soccer ball." Walter laughs, but it dies in his throat when Peter looks at him.

"White tulips."

"What did you say, Peter?"

"White tulips," he repeats.

Oh. Yes. What even made you think of them?"

"I dreamed about them last night. And Olivia, but she was younger than I ever knew her."

"Ah, no. You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what, Walter?"


	6. The Past

Walter moves to sit on the bed with Peter.

Peter fights the urge to move away.

"After I took you from the other side, I began looking for a way to bring you back. I was in Jacksonville, working on the Cortexiphan trials.

"One little girl stood out from all the other children. Little Olive. She had always shown stronger abilities. And when I found out she could move between universes, I thought she could bring you home.

"I had to find her trigger, the emotion that allowed her to pass between the fabric of the universes. But what I found was something more.

"Her stepfather was beating her, and her fear during those episodes mixed with the familial love she automatically felt at home was what triggered the abilities.

"After an experiment at the daycare center, Olivia disappeared. You and your mother—you and Elizabeth had come up from the lake to visit.

The same day, you disappeared, too. Then later, the two of you showed up, hand in hand. Even as children, you two had a bond. You told us you had found her sitting in a field of white tulips."

"Why didn't you go through with the plan? Why didn't Olivia return me to the other universe?" Peter asks, not angry but simply curious.

"You started to accept that you were here to stay. Whether it was that you were tired of fighting or that you actually believed us, I don't know." Walter's voice breaks, a tear sliding down his cheek. "Then, eventually, the trials stopped, and we just let it go."

Peter sighs.

"Son, I wish I had done more. I should have tried harder to take you home. I-I should have…" his voice trails off, and Walter loses himself in his thoughts.

Peter stands and goes to his closet. He pulls out a duffel bag and starts shoving in clothes carelessly.

Walter sees this and starts to sob.

Peter goes to him, and leans down beside him. "Walter, I'm only going to stay in a hotel for a while. I'm not leaving, but I need some space."

Walter nods, still crying.

Peter finishes packing and leaves Walter sitting on his bed.

When Peter tosses the bag in Olivia's backseat, she eyes it warily.

"Going somewhere?" she asks, her voice betraying her and the nervous tone slipping through.

"A hotel. I need some space from him, for a while."

Olivia lets out a silent sigh of relief.

They pull out and get on the road again, heading in no particular direction.

"Hey, Peter? You can stay with me, if you want. It'll save you a couple-hundred bucks a night, and it looks like you're not going back for a while."

"Are you sure?" he asks, wary of her sudden openness with him.

"Sure, Peter. It's no problem."

"Okay, then. Thanks, Liv."

She nods, smiling at the nickname, and then her phone goes off.

"Dunham," she answers.

**A/N: I know, it's super short, compared to my other chapters, but I needed to separate from the next chapter for a reason. You'll see.**


	7. The Man From The Other Side

**A/N: So, basically, just insert all the case-y stuff from 2.18 ('The Man From The Other Side'). I would do it no justice, so I'll just rewrite other stuff.**

When Peter wakes, he opens his eyes but does not see. His head is pounding, and there's a ringing in his ears.

"Peter?"

_Olivia._

Her face comes into focus, and she's smiling. "Hi," he mumbles.

"Welcome back."

"How long was I out?"

"Um," she says, sitting down in the chair beside the bed and scooting it closer. "About a day…and a half."

He sighs. "I missed our date," he says sadly.

"Yes, you did," she smiles, "but we still had dinner. Sort of. An IV and some bad cafeteria food are better than nothing."

Peter laughs, but stops when the pain surfaces.

Olivia wraps her hands around his. "You scared us," she whispers into his fingers.

"So, Walter's here?" The question is pointless, Peter knows he is.

"Yeah. He wouldn't leave." Olivia looks up at him. "He really loves you, you know."

Peter nods. "I know. Can I see him?"

Olivia places a light kiss on the back of his hand before releasing it and leaving the room.

Peter attempts to adjust his position, but his back screams in protest.

He eventually gives up and just sits.

Walter passes the window and appears in the doorway.

He walks quickly to Peter's side. "Son," he breathes.

Peter cringes.

"Peter, I was worried. The doctor said you'd be fine, but I was so worried."

"I'm fine, Walter," he says flatly. "So, I really am from the other universe. That device would have killed me, like the FBI agent, but it didn't. And it didn't kill the man on the bridge."

Walter looks down at his feet. "They want to keep you overnight for observation. I guess they like to do that a lot," he says, a weak joke that falters.

"Walter, go home. Get some sleep."

The older man says nothing, but nods and turns to leave the room. In the doorway, he turns back. "I'm glad you're okay, Peter." Then he's gone.

To an empty room, Peter whispers "Me too."

* * *

When Peter wakes again, the room is still empty.

He can tell Olivia's been there, because an empty coffee cup was tossed in the wastebasket across the room.

The night sky is illuminated with the lights of the city, and the hallway outside his room is dark.

Peter stands and tugs off the various sensors attached to his body.

He makes his way to the small closet of a bathroom. In the mirror, his facial hair has grown slightly, but otherwise he looks the same as always. Maybe a little tired.

Nothing to suggest he's from another universe.

Turning the knob on the faucet labeled _cold_, he leans forward and splashes some water on his face, on the back of his neck, in his dirty hair.

He reaches blindly for a paper towel from the dispenser next to the sink and finds it empty.

"Looks like you're out of luck."

Peter recognizes the voice immediately.

"Newton," he says, looking up and seeing the man reflected behind him in the mirror.

"Peter Bishop." He throws his hands up in mock surrender, as if to show he comes unarmed. "I am merely a messenger, this time. There's someone who would like to see you."

He disappears from the mirror and Peter turns away to follow him out of the small bathroom.

Back in the hospital room, a figure is hidden in the shadows of the dark hallway.

"Mr. Secretary, Peter Bishop," Newton announces.

"Yes. It is good to see you, _son_."

The figure steps forward, into the dim light of the room. It's still fairly dark, but Peter can see clearly who stands before him.

"Hello, _father_."

* * *

When Olivia returns to Peter's room, fresh coffee in hand, his bed is empty.

She checks the bathroom, that's empty. His clothes are gone, too.

"He's not here," a voice says from behind her.

She drops the coffee to the floor, where it bursts open and sprays across the bottom of her pants and all over the floor, gun aimed steadily at Newton's head.

"What did you do with him, you bastard."

"Calm, Agent Dunham. Peter Bishop is unharmed."

"He better be, Newton. Where is he?" she demands.

"With someone who will not hurt him if all goes according to plan."

"I want proof. Take me to him."

"I'm sorry, Olivia, but I can't do that." His hand inches towards his pocket.

"Hands!"

"But I thought you wanted proof, Agent."

His hand emerges with a cell phone. He flips it open and dials. He places it to his ear. "Put Peter Bishop on."

He presses a button and holds it before him.

"_Olivia?"_ Peter's voice crackles through the room.

"Peter," she sighs. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"_I'm okay, I think. As for where I am, I don't know. Olivia, _he's here_."_

"Who's here, Peter?"

Just then, Newton pushes a button and the call goes silent. "Sorry," he says, "that you cannot know, just yet. But in time."

"I swear, if you do anything to him…"

He returns the phone to his pocket. "As long as I leave this room alive, I promise he will not be harmed. If, however, I do not contact my company in the next ten minutes, you will never see Peter Bishop again. Clear?"

Olivia does not move, she does not waver. The gun stays aimed, but she clenches her teeth and says, "_Go_."

Newton backs out of the room and she lowers her gun, her hands starting to shake.

She holsters it and places a hand on the bed to hold herself up.

Her heart pounds and her chest aches.

And she's lost.

* * *

"There is much, son, that you do not know."

"Yeah, like what?"

Peter sits in a chair, crudely strapped in at his wrists and ankles with duct tape.

"Since the very night the other Walter Bishop crosses over and stole you, my—_our_—world has been falling apart. I have done everything in my power to try and slow the degradation of the universe but, sadly, I am at an impasse."

"Look, I'm sorry, but how am I supposed to help you save _that_ world when I can hardly manage saving _this_ one?"

"Because it is your universe, Peter. The one you were born into. It is your rightful place." He pauses. "In this room are schematics and hardware of a machine, a machine that might be able to heal our world. I only ask that you help us understand this technology better, and help save our universe. Then I will return you to wherever you may choose to go."

He turns to leave.

"What about Olivia?"

He ignores Peter, and disappears behind a thick, metal door.

**A/N: I know it took longer for Walternate to recover in the original story line, but I needed it to be this way for plot purposes. And I've discovered that I enjoy writing Newton. He's such an interesting character. It's too bad he's dead.**


	8. The Machine: Part One

Olivia slams another file closed at her kitchen table.

Another file on Newton. Another file with no helpful information.

"_Don't go," she whispers. She can feel the fear creeping in, and fights it. "I know your first thought is to get as far away from here as possible, but don't. I don't think Walter could take it if you left."_

Olivia runs a hand through her hair. She taps her fingers impatiently on the wooden surface of the tabletop.

She reaches for another file. She flips it open. She's scanned half the page before she realizes it's useless, just another file filled with the same information.

And none of it will lead her to Peter.

She huffs out a breath of annoyance, of anger, of exhaustion.

_Peter moves closer to Olivia. Dangerously close. She can feel his warmth, even though they aren't touching. Yet. "What about you? What would you do if I left?"_

The tears burn her eyes. Her vision goes cloudy. Her chest aches, as if a big, gaping hole is left where her heart should be; an open wound, and Newton's just ground salt into it.

Olivia pushes the file away.

She stands, leaving the table and heading towards the kitchen. She opens a cabinet, and is frustrated to find it void of the usual liquor bottle.

She slams it shut, maybe a little too hard.

Her head falls against it.

_Her breath hitches in her throat as he brings a hand to her cheek. She can feel it again. The fear. A flash of gold surrounds him. He moves closer, his breath on her face. She closes her eyes to block it out. "Don't go," she whispers again, just before closing the distance between them._

On the verge of tears and without a drop of alcohol in her system, she pushes herself from her current position against the cabinet and moves for the door. She does not think. She grabs her phone and keys without looking.

_He gives her a long, soft kiss before whispering, "I'm not going anywhere."_

The door slams shut behind her, and the lock clicks into place.

* * *

Peter clicks a button on a tape recorder and sets it on the table beside him.

"Object is totally unresponsive, but there's nothing wrong with it. There's no obvious damages to the structure, and yet, somehow…it just feels incomplete."

He sighs. "As if it lacks a powers source."

Peter stands from the cold, metal chair, hands on the back of his head. "This is insane," he whispers to himself.

He abruptly turns back to the table. "_Insane_. What if the object is symbiotic in nature? Not entirely mechanical. It would just need some sort of…some sort of organic interface."

Peter goes to poke at the piece again, and it moves. It moves without him touching it.

He opens his hand over the pieces, palm down. Hovering over them, the chunks of machine shift and something touches his hand.

He flips his palm up, and the pieces are stuck to his hand, as if magnetized to his skin by some unseen force.

* * *

Sliding on to the leather seat of the barstool, Olivia tells the scruff man on the other side of the counter what she wants. After a minute, she slides the drink in front of her and she thanks him quietly.

She gingerly brings the glass to her lips and the amber easily down her throat, as it always has.

For a minute, Olivia lets her brain rest. She forgets about Peter, about Newton, about Walter and about work. Her mind a complete blank, she closes her eyes and focuses only on the taste in her mouth, allowing the alcohol to flood her system.

For a moment, she expects to feel the effects of the whiskey; but then as the realization of how well—too well—she holds her liquor, everything else comes back.

"_I'm not going anywhere."_

Peter is taken, and her world is crumbling in every sense. Even if she finds him, safe and sound, they still have to go back to before, where every day is just another apocalypse.

By now, Olivia's glass is empty save for the quickly melting cubes of ice. The bartender is at the other end of the room, serving another drink, and the smoky taste of the whiskey is fading.

She pulls her cellphone from her pocket, looking for the time. She's unsure of how long she's been here, lost in her thoughts. The screen is black; battery's died since she left the apartment.

Olivia turns her head, looking for a clock. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees it. _She sees him_. For a moment, she thinks she's imagined it. She stands to follow him, and on the barstool next to her is a piece of paper.

She picks it up tentatively, holding it in her suddenly shaky hand. The paper seems older, worn, but of no interest to her. Her eyes scan it again, and come to rest on the drawing of Peter's face, turned upwards and his eyes burning in their sockets.

Olivia looks up once more, and the Observer is gone.

* * *

Peter paces in front of the table.

Back and forth. Glance. Back and forth.

"The parameters are human. A reflection of the human genome," he tells the recorder.

He stops, leaning his elbows at the table. "The spectrum isn't random. In fact, the specificity of the configuration would seem to suggest that only a subset of people could illicit a response, and a narrow subset at that."

He lifts his hand, and it hovers a few inches above the object on the metal table.

He hesitates. "A subset of one."

Slowly, he lowers his hand. As it comes to rest comfortably—a little too comfortably—into it, the inner panel glows and the pieces lock in on his hand.

Peter sighs. "Me."

Peter stares, in awe, at the machine coming to life in his hands.

A noise startles him, and he jerks away from the device, turning back to find the origin of the sound.

The door swings open and _he_ walks in.

"What is this?" Peter asks him.

"This is what is going to save our world."

* * *

"Walter, what is this? What does it mean?"

Walter's eyes roam over the scrap of paper from the hundredth time. "A long time ago, after I pulled Peter over, an Observer came to me. He told me that I was never to let Peter cross back over to the other side. That if I did, something terrible would happen. I think this is what he was referring to," Walter sighs.

"But what does it mean?" Olivia demands urgently.

"I…" Walter places the paper on the table in front of him, and runs a hand along the sketch of Peter. "I think my son is going to be responsible for the end of the world," he whimpers.


	9. The Warehouse

_"I think my son is going to be responsible for the end of the world."_

Peter. Destroying the universe.

Olivia couldn't believe it.

Well, she wouldn't.

At her desk in the FBI building, she has resumed poring over files about anything related to Newton.

The other universe. Shapeshifters. William Bell. Cortexiphan. Walter.

She doesn't even notice Broyles approach her desk.

"Agent Dunham?" he asks.

She jumps slightly in her chair. "Oh. Broyles."

"Still nothing on a possible location?"

"I don't know," she sighs, running her hand over her hair, pulled back tight into a ponytail. "What little we know on Newton is useless, and I don't know where else to look."

"What about the man from the other side? What do we know about him?"

"Nothing. No one even saw his face. And we have no idea why Newton brought him over, or how this is connected to Peter and the drawing."

"And the Observer?"

"Gone," she sighs. "As usual."

"Well, keep looking."

She nods, and he disappears from her desk.

She turns back to the file.

Flipping the page, something catches her eye.

* * *

Broyles is sitting at his desk. He hangs up the phone, and a second later the doors opens.

"Sir, I think I may have found something," Olivia says quickly. "The shapeshifters, the ones who stole Newton's head from the cryonics facilities, I believe they may have had a base of operations. One that we never found. I think Newton is still there."

"Why would he stay?"

"Well, who knows what he would be moving. And as long as he was sure we had no idea of the location, why move?"

"Okay. But how _do _we find it?"

"The shapeshifter who posed as Charlie," she paused, swallowing hard, "he would have gone there. And FBI vehicles have GPS. Even if he tampered with it, we could still find the original data. But we'll need help."

Broyles sighs heavily. "I'll have it sent to Massive Dynamic."

* * *

Olivia is driving when her phones rings. She pushes a button and holds it to her ear.

"Dunham."

"Yes, Olivia, it's Nina. We think we might have a location for you. Do you have a pen?"

"Nope, don't need one. What's the address?"

"416 Reardon Street. In the warehouse district."

"Okay. Thank you, Nina."

"Olivia?" the woman asks just before she hangs up.

"Yes?"

"I hope you find him." Nina doesn't say his name, but Olivia knows she means Peter, not Newton.

"Yeah," she sighs. "Me too."

She hangs up and immediately dials Broyles.

* * *

Olivia pulls onto Reardon Street. She sees the number 416, and drives around the corner and several building down before parking.

She jumps out of her car, and jogs back to the building.

Broyles had told her backup was ten minutes out. That was five minutes ago.

She didn't feel like waiting.

She tries a side door of the warehouse. The long, metal handle jiggles, but doesn't give.

Olivia raises her gun and shoots the doorknob.

It's loud, too loud, but effective. She kicks the door open.

Inside, the large room is dark. And empty.

Olivia runs across the expanse to another door. She places an ear against it, and hears voices. She readies her gun and tries the door.

It's open.

She pushes it open slowly, quietly. Peeking around it, she sees two men talking. One man is Newton, the other faces away from her. He begins to turn and it's…

Walter? No, he's different. She instantly knows who this is.

_Walternate_.

Olivia ducks and hides behind a table.

Newton reaches into his pocket and retrieves a cell phone. He answers, "What?"

He listens only for a few seconds before he's ended the call and moving around.

"They're here," he states simply, and Olivia realizes he means her backup.

Walternate disappears behind a door.

Newton seems calm, but he quickly packs various things into a medium-sized duffel bag.

Olivia stands, aiming her gun. "Freeze."

Newton looks up and smiles. "Agent Dunham. How nice of you to see us off."

He bolts, abandoning the bag and running through the same door Walternate had just been through.

Olivia sprints across the room, and through the door both men are gone.

This room just leads to more doors.

Olivia is just about to try one when she hears a voice echoing from above.

She listens, and the voice carries to a door a few feet away. Olivia pulls it opens and finds stairs.

She climbs quickly finding herself at another door.

"Oh, come on," she whispers to herself.

It's locked, but she just shoots it like she did with the first door outside.

She kicks it open and storms in.

_Peter_. He's there, across the room.

"Olivia!" he says, a smile tugging at his mouth.

She runs to him, and he pulls her into his arms.

"Oh. Oh, Peter," she whispers against his chest.

She looks up to find his eyes, and she's so happy.

He's here. He's alive. She's found him.

He crashes his lips down on hers, hand on her face.

He pulls away and smiles. But then he looks up, and it's gone. He shouts "No!" and then spins them around.

And then something hits him, and he falls limp against her.

Unable to hold his weight, he slips to the floor and Walternate stands across the room, a small gun in his hand.

"No!" She falls to her knees and finds a small dart stuck in Peter's shoulder.

Olivia's gun had fallen to the floor and skid several feet away.

"Stand up," says the voice, crisper and more articulate that familiar.

She does.

"Step away, or I will be forced to shoot you, too."

She takes a step back, then another.

He walks forward, and stops next to Peter.

In his other hand is a small device. He presses a button, and it beeps repeatedly.

"You were the man on the bridge, weren't you?" she asks.

"Smart girl," he says, looking slightly bemused.

"What does the drawing mean?"

Walternate sighs. "Well, I suppose there is more than one of everything."

The device in his hand beeps faster now, and begins to glow.

"This is the way it must be. The other Walter Bishop broke our universe, and I intend to save it."

Olivia dives for her gun, but feels a dart hit her leg.

Her body falls hard against the ground, but she watches as Peter and his father flash out of sight. Then it all goes black.

* * *

Olivia takes a deep breath before walking into the lab.

"Oh, Olivia, good to see you!"

Walter is running around the lab, seeming to be baking.

"Hi, Walter."

"Olivia," Astrid greets her. "How are you?"

"Um…I'm fine," she lies.

"Olive, dear, you must try Asteroid's apple pie, it's stupendous!" he booms, lifting a bite into his mouth.

"Walter, we need to talk."

Walter's face falls, and he takes another bite of apple pie.

Olivia sighs. "I want to cross over."

Walter's eyes widen momentarily, and then he looks down morosely at his shoes.

"I figured you would. But I'm not sure you can."

"Why not? We have Newton's technology."

"Because it requires recuperation. If you were to cross over with it, I'm afraid it could kill you."

Olivia huffs, frustrated. She leans her elbows on the table in front of her, head in her hands. Her hair falls over her, left loose from her normal ponytail.

"But there may be another way."

Olivia looks up.

"As a girl, during the Cortexiphan trials, you could pass between the worlds on your own."

"Yes, but Walter, we know I have trouble controlling my abilities."

"Which is why, my dear, I do not think you can do it alone."


	10. The Crossing

"So, Dr. Bishop thinks we will help you be able to cross over to the other universe?"

"He does."

A man sits back in one of the chairs at the lab. His hand drapes over into the lap of a woman next to him, where their fingers are woven together. A third man stands several feet away, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

"_There are still over a dozen Cortexiphan subjects unaccounted for. Prudence dictated that we determine what we might be dealing with in the future," Broyles tells Olivia as they walk down the long, white hallway of the Massive Dynamic facility._

"_So you woke all three of them up?" she questions._

"_Actually, five," he informs her. "We've tracked down some others."_

"_Okay."_

_They approach a door, and through the window she sees them, siting at individual tables._

"_About six weeks ago, Massive Dynamic proposed a series of experiments to help them gain control of and repurpose their abilities. These three have been quite successful."_

"Olive, why do you want to cross over?"

She sighs. "Because someone I care about was taken, and I am the only one who can bring him back."

The man sitting in front of her nods, understanding, and glances at his companion.

Olivia looks to the other man across the room, keeping his distance.

"_James Heath can now cure disease, not cause it."_

He hasn't spoken since they arrived. He still harbors some hostility towards Walter.

"Olivia?"

"_Sally Clark is becoming a fully functional pyrokinetic."_

The woman smiles. "I'll help."

"Me too," the man next to her chimes, smiling brightly at Olivia.

"_And your friend Nick Lane's empathetic transfers can now be controlled."_

James uncrosses his arms and lets them fall to his sides, and he takes a step closer. "I guess I'm in, too."

Olivia looks at the three people in front of her.

"Thank you," she tells them, the only familiar faces left from her childhood.

* * *

"Alright, Olivia. Just relax. You remember."

"Not fondly, but yes."

"Asterix, start the drip."

Astrid goes to Olivia's side and starts the flow of Cortexiphan.

"Are you sure we don't need to be dosed?" Nick asks from off to the side with the others. He watches Olivia intently, nervously.

"No, no. Your abilities are completely active, while Olivia's lie dormant in her brain. And, when the time comes, we will need you three to remain grounded to this universe whilst Olivia crosses over."

He sighs, and Sally grips his hand.

"It's okay, Nick. I'm fine." Olivia tries to smile at him, but it is weak and unhelpful.

He smiles back anyway.

Olivia starts to feel the effects of the drugs, and her head rolls back into the headrest.

* * *

_When Olivia opens her eyes, she's not in the lab anymore. She's in her apartment._

"_Hello?" she calls out, and it echoes slightly._

"_Liv." John walks out of her kitchen, and her stomach turns. "There you are. We've been waiting for you."_

"_Who's 'we'?" she asks cautiously._

"_Who else?" a voice asks her, and her heart aches. Charlie joins John in the kitchen. "Don't you miss us, Livvy?"_

"_This isn't real. You're not real," Olivia tells them, but she's the one who needs convincing._

"_Real is just a matter of perception," a third voice says from behind her, and it's this voice that hurts the most._

"_Peter," she whispers, and a hand slides on to her waist. She turns into him almost reflexively, and he's glimmering._

"_Stay here with us," they all say simultaneously._

"_I can't. I have to save you," she tells Peter._

"_What about us?" John asks, pulling a gun from inside his jacket. "You can't just leave us."_

_Charlie moves closer to John and says, "The boy. Kill the boy."_

_Olivia reaches for her gun, and finds it in Peter's hand at her waist. "I need to go home," he whispers into her ear._

_He releases his hold on her, and the gun clatters to the floor. When Olivia looks up, John and Charlie are in a heap on the floor._

_But John's still alive. "You killed us. And for what?" he chokes out._

_Olivia turns back to find Peter holding a glimmering woman in a tight embrace. She's facing away from Olivia, but looks back over her shoulder at her._

_And they're _her_ eyes._

* * *

Olivia gasps as she pulls out of her mind and she finds Walter's face.

At first, she takes comfort in seeing Walter; it means she's back. But then she feels that hostility, that anger creeping in.

"_You did this to little children?"_ she remembers.

The others in the room watch her intently.

"Olive?" Nick asks, looking concerned.

"Let's go," she says hastily, standing from the chair and ripping the IV out of her arm.

* * *

Walter takes them to an opera house in New York, rambling on about how it's somehow a thinner spot in the fabric of the universe.

While Nick, Sally, and James are talking to Walter, Astrid goes to Olivia, sitting in a theater chair a few empty rows away.

"You okay?" she asks.

"I'm fine," Olivia lies.

"No, you're not," Astrid says gently. "What's wrong?"

Olivia sighs. "When I was under, it was different from last time. It felt more…_real_."

"Well, what did you see?"

"John. Charlie. Peter. Another version of me."

"Oh, Olivia…"

"And I know it's stupid of me, but what if when I get there, he won't want to come back? I mean, it's _his_ universe."

Astrid places a hand on Olivia's. "That may be his _universe_, but this is his _home_. With you," she says. "He loves you, Olivia. And even though you don't see it yet, it's true. Don't overthink it."

Olivia nods, forcing a small smile.

"I think we're ready for you, Olivia."

The four ended up on stage, Olivia in the center while the others made a circle around her.

"Concentrate, Olive. Feel this universe slipping away and let yourself pass through to the other side…"

Olivia squeezes her eyes shut and thinks about what she saw. _Peter and _her_ glimmering, the deep green eyes a mirror of her own._

It's quiet for a while before Olivia speaks. "Walter?" she asks, eyes still shut.

There's no response. No sound at all, actually.

Olivia opens her eyes, and suddenly feels sick.

The whole room's glimmering.


	11. The Interrogation

**(A/N: Insert opening scenes from 2.22 "Over There: Part One". Where it starts is kind of obvious from there.)**

"Hey guys, I think we got something."

Liv and Lincoln run up the stairs to where Charlie's standing.

On the floor next to him is a body. A woman. Charlie pulls her from her side and brushes the blonde hair from her face.

"Oh my god," Lincoln whispers. "Liv, _it's you_."

The Fringe team is still, in awe of the resemblance between this Olivia and their own.

And then her eyes open.

* * *

Olivia wakes in a dark room. She's laying down, her back against something firm.

She sits up, but it's too dark to see anything.

_Think_, she tells herself. _What do you remember?_

She remembers being at the opera house with Walter and Astrid. And…Nick? Nick and Sally and James…all of them. The other Cortexiphan subjects.

She had crossed over.

Had she? Where was she?

She had opened her eyes to find herself alone in the opera house, so she must have crossed over.

But then…it was black.

As black as the room she's in now.

The lights flicker on, temporarily blinding her. Her head starts to pound, her stomach so empty the acid is eating at her.

"Please stand."

Olivia's eyes adjust, and she's alone in a holding cell of some kind.

"Please stand," a voice repeats.

She obeys, not knowing what else to do.

"State your name," the voice orders.

"Special Agent Olivia Dunham of the FBI," she says, eyes scanning the room for the origin of the voice.

Across the room, the wall slides open to reveal a hidden door.

"Ms. Dunham, please be seated."

A man walks in the room, and she recognizes him. From the opera house.

"_Agent_ Dunham," she corrects him, ignoring his request.

"Okay, _Agent_. Sit down."

Olivia walks cautiously to the table at the center of the room. She slowly pulls the chair out and lowers herself into it.

"I'm Captain Lincoln Lee of Fringe Division." He positions himself in the chair on the other side of the table. "Do you know where you are?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Do you know why you are here?"

Olivia leans forward into the table. "Because I crossed over from a parallel universe and collapsed."

Lincoln just looks at her. "And why did you 'cross over'?"

"To find Peter Bishop and bring him back with me."

"Peter Bishop? The Secretary's son?"

"Who's the Secretary?"

The door opens again, and two more people enter before it seals shut behind them.

"Walter Bishop, Secretary of Defense," says the woman with the fire-red hair.

"His son, Peter Bishop, was kidnapped 25 years ago, and is presumed dead," adds the man next to her, his head shaved down and a scar running down the side of his face.

Lincoln starts, "This is my team, Agents—"

"Olivia Dunham and Charlie Francis," Olivia finishes.

The two newcomers exchange a look.

Olivia feels a boost of confidence at their weariness. "You," she points at Liv, "are, well, me. And you," she points at Charlie, "were my partner." She turns to Lincoln. "But you I've never seen before." She leans back in her chair. "So, are you going to let me see the Secretary, or do I have to find him myself?"

"The Secretary is…unavailable at the moment. Out of the country," Lincoln tells her.

"Well, I bet if you called, he's just returned. And, technically, he wasn't out of the country," Olivia says. "He crossed over into my universe and took Peter."

"So, you're saying that he kidnapped the same boy that was taken from him 25 years ago?" Liv asks.

Olivia feels a little annoyed. "Walter only took him to save him," she says defensively.

"The Secretary? I thought you said…"

"No, my Walter. 25 years ago, his Peter died of a disease. Walter came over here to save this Peter, but had to bring him over, and he was stuck in my world."

The team opposite her stands, silent.

A voice booms through the room. Another familiar voice, "Team, report back to my office immediately."

They move towards the wall where the door is. Lincoln places his hand on the wall and the door slides open.

"Oh, and tell Broyles I said 'Hello'," Olivia teases as the team floods out of her cell.

And she thinks, _I got our eyes exactly_.

* * *

The team gathers in the large office. Seated at the desk in the center of the room is Colonel Broyles.

"I've left a message at the Secretary's office, but no word yet."

"Is it really possible, sir? Parallel universes?" Lincoln asks, skeptically.

"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing we've seen, right?" Charlie cuts in.

"Speak for yourself. You're not the one in the same room as your doppelganger," Liv says uncertainly.

Broyles holds his hand up, and the team quiets. "We can't prove any of this. We don't even know if Peter Bishop is alive, let alone back with his father. We'll hold her until we hear from the Secretary." His voice is heavy, irritated and impatient and confused.

The team nods and leaves the office after being dismissed.

Back in the central hub, Liv pulls up video from the holding cell on her screen. She watches as this other version of herself lounges on the cot.

She's startled when Lincoln places a hand on her shoulder.

"Liv? You good?"

She nods and bites at her lower lip, lying. "Yeah, I'm fine. Um…" she hesitates, thinking, "I'm going to go see if she'll talk some more."

"Not likely, seeing as she's just as stubborn as you," Charlie jokes from his station a few feet away.

"Yeah," she laughs nervously before standing and walking back to the holding room, leaving her teammates behind.

* * *

Olivia doesn't look as she listens to the door slide open. In her peripheral vision, she can see the head of red hair appear in the doorway.

Her doppelganger stands there a moment, hesitant, before stepping inside the room and taking the seat at the table, in the chair where her partner previously sat.

She stares at the blonde, laid back and looking up at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, she decides on her first question.

"Rachel. Is she alive in your world?" Her voice is shaky, but at least she's fighting the tears back.

Now Olivia turns her head to look at the other woman, her expression concerned and confused. "Yes," she says slowly. "I also have a niece, Ella. She'll be seven next month."

Liv's eyes begin to water but she sniffs them away. "Ella," she whispers.

"Yeah. She looks just like Mom," Olivia states, sitting up on the cot. "It's too bad she didn't get to meet her."

Now it's Liv's turn to look confused. "You lost your mother?"

Olivia nods solemnly. "And your sister?"

"She and the baby died during childbirth."

"I'm sorry," Olivia tells her, hands in her lap.

Liv nods, still sniffing back her tears. She takes another deep breath, gathering her strength, and asks, "How did you cross over?"

Olivia considers keeping her mouth shut, but is too intrigued by the conversation to end it yet. "I was placed in an experimental drug trial as a child. The drug was designed to alter perception. Crossing over is one of my residual abilities."

"You have more than one?"

"I can also identify objects from this side," Olivia admits. "But it takes effort, training."

"Like what?"

Olivia stopped then, realizing this was more of an interrogation than an exchange anymore. Instead of answer the question, she posed one of her own. "Have you contacted the Secretary yet?"

"Um, no." Liv stands, sensing the end of her answers. Just as she's walking out the door, she turns back. "Who's Peter Bishop?" she asks.

Olivia looks up at her and answers, "He's someone I care about very much."


	12. The Escape

When Liv returns to her desk, Lincoln and Charlie are waiting for her.

"Hey," Lincoln says, but Charlie kicks him and he shuts up.

Liv tries and manages a small, sad smile. She knows that they would have listened to her conversation. She grabs her jacket and starts to leave.

Lincoln ignores Charlie now, jogging after his partner. "Liv, you okay?"

She turns to him and nods. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I'm tired, gonna head home. See you tomorrow," she says, and keeps walking.

"Yeah, tomorrow…" Lincoln says after her, unheard.

* * *

Back at her apartment, Frank is there to greet her.

He kisses her, but she pulls away too soon and goes to the kitchen.

"Something wrong?" he asks.

"No," she lies, and he turns back to something on the stove. She stands for a moment, thinking. "Okay, what if, in another place, there was someone who was exactly the same as you but only slightly different?"

"What, you mean like a parallel world?" he questions.

"Sure," she answers. "What would you say to you?"

"Um…" he says, turning towards her. "I don't know. I guess I would find out what's different between us and why. Why? Did you stumble across another version of you?" he asks, jokingly.

Liv laughs nervously. "No, just curious, I guess."

Frank sighs. "What's up with you tonight? Are you okay? Did something happen at work?"

"No," she lies again. "No, I'm just thinking. Lincoln had me read this article and it just started me thinking."

"Well, if I did meet another me, I'm sure he'd be a handsome devil," Frank says, eyebrow arched.

Liv smiles, then bursts into laughter.

* * *

When Liv gets to work the next day, she's the first one there of her team. Broyles is on the phone in his office, and she decides to check the feed of the holding cell again.

Olivia's awake, pacing back and forth in the tiny room.

Liv takes another glance at Broyles' office before she turns off the screen and walks away. She stops in the break room on her way and grabs a bottle of water.

Olivia turns when the door slides open and Liv steps inside. The door closes behind her and she sets the bottle on the table.

Olivia smirks. "Thanks, but what I really need is some coffee."

Liv sits at the table. "Yeah, well, only if you have a small fortune," she tells her.

Olivia looks for an explanation.

"Coffee's hard to come by, here."

"Oh," Olivia says, retrieving the bottle.

Liv shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Did you sleep?"

"Not much. But I don't usually, anymore." Olivia reaches up and releases her hair from its binds, and it falls over her shoulders in a golden waterfall. She runs her hand through it a few times before pulling it up once again, this time into a messy bun. "Any word yet?"

Liv's just about to say no when the intercom crackles. "Dunham, my office, now."

Liv stands and leaves her doppelganger alone again in the room.

* * *

"Sir?" Liv asks, sliding in through the clear glass door. Charlie and Lincoln are also in the office.

"I've just received word from the Secretary. We're to release her into their custody," he says sternly.

"So they can do what with her?" Lincoln asks, calmly, trying to get the question out before Liv can.

"Not our concern."

"But sir—" Liv starts.

"No, Dunham. This is above all of us," he cuts her off.

She nods, defeated.

"You three will escort her to Liberty Island, and then report immediately back here. Understand?"

The trio nods simultaneously, and then vacates the office.

Charlie heads downstairs first to check out a transport vehicle while Lincoln and Liv return to the holding cell.

Inside, Liv stands off to the side while Lincoln places cuffs on Olivia. "Where are we going?" Olivia asks.

"Liberty Island. Looks like you'll get your meeting with the Secretary," Lincoln says. He leads them out and to an elevator. The ride is silent.

In the garage, Lincoln opens the door for Olivia and helps her inside. She gives him a sad smile, and he looks away.

Lincoln opts to drive the transport vehicle with Liv in the passenger seat, and Charlie follows behind in an SUV.

During the drive, which is mostly silent, Lincoln answers a call from Charlie.

He turns to Liv. "Charlie's gotta pee," he says, sighing.

"I swear, his bladder's shrunk since the worms," she jokes.

"Arachnids," the two say in sync, smiling. Olivia looks confused, but brushes it off.

A minute later, both vehicles pull into a gas station. "I'm gonna top off the tank," Lincoln says, leaving the women alone in the vehicle.

Liv turns back to Olivia. "Do you love him?"

"What?" Olivia asks, lost.

"Peter. Do you love him?" Liv presses on.

Olivia swallows hard. "Yes," she whispers, voice hoarse.

Liv nods, and tosses something into her lap. Olivia retrieves it, a small metal key.

"Undo your cuffs," Liv orders.

Olivia stares at her, bewildered.

"Just do it!"

She complies.

"Now, cuff me to the seat."

Olivia takes Liv's outstretched wrist, locks it into one cuff. She loops the short chain around one of the metal posts of the headrest, and locks her other wrist in.

"Take my gun," she says, tilting her head to her waist. "While they're still occupied, go!"

Olivia removes the gun from the holster on the other woman's hip. She stops, looks to her alternate, "Why are you doing this?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Does it matter? Just run!" she hisses.

Olivia is slow and silent to open her door, on the opposite side of Lincoln and the gas tank. She leaves it ajar, and sprints across the street. She ducks in to a diner, the bell on the door chiming; she conceals the gun in her jacket, and goes to the counter.

"Can I help you?" the waitress asks.

"Is there a back door?" Olivia asks hurriedly.

She pauses then gestures, towards the back with her pen. "Through the kitchen. Why?"

Olivia bolts without another word, leaving a very confused waitress in her wake.

* * *

Back in the car, Lincoln opens his door and finds Liv cuffed to the seat.

"Oh my God, Liv. What happened?"

"I don't know. She got free and cuffed me in. Then she took my gun and ran. She's gone, Linc."

Lincoln casts a glance at the open door in the back, then back to Liv. "Hold on."

He turns away from the vehicle, catching Charlie in his return from the restroom. "She's gone, Charlie."

"Fantastic," he mutters, sprinting across the street. Lincoln jogs back to Liv to free her, the key tossed haphazardly into his seat.

Charlie makes his way into the diner and approaches the waitress, who stares off towards a door at the back. "Blonde woman come through here?"

She's caught off guard by Charlie's question, but her pen snaps in the direction of the door. He swings through it and follows the kitchen out to another door. It opens into an empty alley. "Damn!" he exclaims, and goes back in the direction of his team.

* * *

"Damn," Olivia hears from behind a large metal machine in the diner's kitchen. She stays hidden until she hears Charlie exit the front door, bell jingling. She slides out of her hiding spot and goes through the alley door.

She runs, weaving around buildings and through more alleys, and she keeps jogging for nearly ten minutes.

Her legs ache, with the sudden use after being in a confined space for so long. Sure that she's made it a safe distance away from the team, she walks up to a parked taxi cab and opens the door, climbing inside.

"Not taking fares right now," the driver says, not looking up from his newspaper.

"You are now," Olivia says, raising the gun and putting it to his temple.

He starts to look up and freezes, the metal barrel grazing his hairline. "Okay, there's no need for that. Please, put the gun down."

She pulls the gun away, placing it on the seat beside her, but keeping her hand firmly locked around it.

"Where would you like to go? Miss…"

"Olivia."

"Okay, Olivia. Where to?"

"Just drive," she commands.

"Your 'show-me'?" he asks, hand out and waiting.

"Uh, lost it?" she lies, and he sighs. He reaches up for something from the visor, and her hand tenses around the gun. It's an ID of some sort, and he scans it in the dashboard. Then he returns it to its designated spot, and pulls out into traffic.

"What's your name?" she asks. "You know mine, so tell me yours."

"Henry," the cabbie says.

"Well, Henry, today is your lucky day."

* * *

**(A/N: So...I'm taking Liv in a new direction. Sue me. I like it better when the two get along. And then Henry. I like him. We're keeping him. Reviews?)**


	13. The Others

Nick glances over at Olivia in the theater, sitting with Astrid. She looks upset. Sally grabs his hand and he turns to her.

"Pay attention," she whispers.

Walter clears his throat. "Now, the three of you are here to amplify Olivia's dormant power. You will need to form some sort of circle around her, and make a circuit. Whatever you do, remember to keep yourself grounded. Anchor yourself somehow. A tether, if you will, to this universe."

"What if it doesn't work?" James asks, suspicious of the doctor still.

"I don't know," the older, weathered man admits. "But let's not think on it. Are we all ready?" he asks them, changing the subject.

The three of them pause, exchanging final glances, then nod simultaneously.

"I think we're ready for you, Olivia!"

She looks up from the smaller woman, her face smoothing into an emotionless plain.

Slowly, Nick, Sally, and James form a circle on the stage. Olivia enters it, and they raise their arms so their fingertips are just touching.

Walter steps forward, but stays a few feet away. "Concentrate, Olive. Feel this universe slipping away and let yourself pass through to the other side…"

Olivia shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. Nick watches her intently, and then, with almost no effort at all, she flickers out of sight.

The group heaves a collective sigh of relief and Walter steps forward again, placing a hand on Nick's shoulder. "It worked," he whispers.

* * *

Peter wakes, but his body is frozen in place, paralyzed. The first sense he regains is hearing, a faint beeping in his right ear, and then fainter still in his left. Then touch, the aches and soreness washing over him and the soft fabric clenched between his fingers and encircling his lower body. Taste follows, the acridness of his unbrushed teeth and dry throat. Smell, chemical and hospital clean first and foremost, and something else, something smoky in the background too faint to identify. Last is sight; the glow of the lights through his eyelids and then blinding him when he opens his eyes.

He jolts upwards, something tugging at his arms, chest, and face. He pulls, wires and tubes, electrodes and IVs falling to the floor and around him on the bed.

Only then does he look around. He's not in a hospital, but a house, too familiar to be unknown but his mind too foggy to make the connection.

He shifts in the bed and attempts to stand, finding it a little more difficult than expected.

The second smell is more prominent now, and he immediately recognizes it. He breathes it in, taking comfort in the aroma, the only thing concrete to his addled brain.

Slowly, he makes his way to a wardrobe on the opposite side of the room and finds it full of clothes.

The garments on the left are all dark, varying clothes that, at first glance, appear to be his size. The items on the right, however, are for a smaller person, a child, and come in bright assorted colors.

They're _his_ clothes, he realizes, and this is his house. This is the place in which he was raised for the first seven years of his life.

He dresses slowly, selecting blindly from the left side while browsing through the right, trying to remember something.

His everything hurts, the trip from the other universe more taxing than he would have thought. Dressed in a simple gray cotton shirt and some dark jeans, he pads from the room, barefoot, following the smell.

He arrives in a kitchen, and finds a woman with graying hair standing over the stove, flipping bacon.

She turns back, having heard him enter, and smiles.

"Mom?" Peter asks.

* * *

"Walter, let's go to the hotel. I don't think she's coming back tonight," Astrid says.

"But if she does!" he insists. "I let her go, on her own, and it's my responsibility to be here when they return!"

"But—"

"Astro, I'm staying right here until Peter and Olivia are back in this universe!"

Astrid sighs, defeated. "Okay, Walter. We'll stay right here."

He turns to her. "Well, dear, you don't have to stay here with me. I'm perfectly capable…"

"I know. I _want_ to wait with you," she says. "But right now, I'm going to grab coffee. Would you like some?"

"No, dear. But I'll take some Redvines if you can acquire any."

"Of course. Nick, Sally, James, coffee?" she asks the three, collapsed into theater chairs.

"I think we could all use some. I'll come with you," Sally offers.

"You know, you three don't have to stay. You can go back to the hotel."

Sally glances back at her companions, passed out in their respective seats. "I think we'll stay with Dr. Bishop," Sally says, and the two women walk up the aisle towards the back door.

* * *

"Mom?" Peter asks, breathless.

"Hello, Peter," Elizabeth Bishop says.

He takes a step forward. "Hi," he whispers.

She walks to him and gathers her son in an embrace. It takes him a second, but he relaxes into her arms.

When they finally pull apart, Elizabeth brushes away a tear. She laughs lightly and Peter smiles. "Do you still like bacon?" she asks. "You used to love it as a child."

"I love bacon," he says, laughing.

She turns back to the stove and flips a few pieces in the pan. "Well, sit and it'll be ready in a few minutes." She turns and gives her son another smile, one he finds himself returning.

He takes a seat at the island counter beside the stove. Reaching up to rub his sore neck, he watches his mother with a sort of awe.

"I missed you, Peter," she says, placing several strips of bacon on a plate and placing it in front of him.

"You know, I missed you, too," he admits.

She gives him a confused look, but says nothing about it. "Would you like to go eat on the balcony?" she asks, and he nods, picking up the plate and following her out the glass doors.

* * *

Sally and Nick have fallen asleep next to each other on the other side of the theater.

Walter paces back and forth over the stage, murmuring to himself and gnawing on his licorice.

James and Astrid are beginning a card game in the front row of seats when Broyles emerges through the back door.

"Anything?" he asks, voice booming through the large theater.

Nick jumps at the sound, but settles back in a moment later, curling closer to Sally.

"Nothing yet," Astrid says, not looking up from her hand.

* * *

Peter sits at the glass table as his mother clears the cups and Peter's plate, insisting on mothering him for the first time in over two decades and that he relax because he's still weak.

He sits and tries to remember anything, everything: his childhood here and his childhood there, both muddled and unclear in his head; Olivia and everything that's happened in the last two years, these memories easier to reach but harder to swallow.

But once he's thinking about Olivia, he's practically holding back tears. He loves her, so much, and hates himself for letting her be taken from him.

When his mother reemerges outside, she can tell that there's something wrong.

"Peter? Is everything alright?"

"No," he whispers. "I can't stay here."

**(A/N: In case you got lost, there was a bit of a rewind here. The next chapter is long, almost twice the normal length of what I post. In terms of notebook paper, because I write stuff out old-school, normal chapters are 4-5 pages, both sides equaling one page. The next chapter is almost 9. Yeah, I know. And it has a lot of altverse stuff in it, so if I get terminology wrong, please let me know. It could come in handy in future stories. We're almost in the homestretch. Don't forget to review!)**


	14. The Rescue

"I can't stay here."

His mother is silent for a long while. She sits again, hand rubbing her jaw while she stares away from Peter.

He knows it's coming. The invisible breakdown. Peter knows that every version of Elizabeth Bishop is strong, but the fact that this woman sits before him, alive and well, proves she may just be stronger than the rest. While her eyes water slightly, no tear ever falls. When she looks back at him, she need not even speak.

_Why not?_

Peter takes a deep breath, glancing at his hands. "He brought me back to do something I'll never be capable of doing."

She doesn't move. She's a marble statue, elegant and solid save for her almost nonexistent breathing.

He tries again. "This may be where I was born, but this is not my home."

Her eyes pierce him a moment, searching his own. Then they fall closed, and she takes a labored breath. "You're in love," she says simply, her voice warm and velvet, and the corner of her mouth tugs up for a fraction of a second.

Peter exhales and something sounding suspiciously of laughter tumbles out. "Yeah," he admits.

"What is her name?"

Peter leans forward, elbows against his knees. "Olivia," he whispers. "Her name is Olivia."

"Does she make you happy?"

She's looking at him now, her hand moves toward him slowly, as if she's afraid he'll pull away.

He lets her take his hand, and she holds it firmly between both of hers.

Something pulls at the back of his mind, a buried memory, and it breaks him a little. She was the only Elizabeth Bishop who ever did this with him, the other seemed to shy away from too much contact. Maybe she had done it before, with _her_ son, the one to which she gave life.

He doesn't dare dwell on it much longer, reminding himself that he had been asked a question.

"She does," he replies, trying to convey just _how_ she makes him feels in only two words. He doesn't think it enough, two measly words, but it'll have to do. For now.

Elizabeth smiles. It's a sad smile, but behind the pain is love, love and understanding.

"Okay," she says.

* * *

"Look, do you even know where you're going?"

Olivia doesn't answer Henry. They had been driving in circles for about an hourwhile she sat silent in the back seat, strategizing.

"Hello? Olivia?" he pushes on.

"Shh!" she snaps at him.

He gets quiet.

"Do you know how to get to Liberty Island?"

"Uh, yeah. A boat," he says, voice dripping with annoyance and sarcasm.

"Not what I meant," she hisses through her teeth.

"I can get you to outside the port, but that's it. Only government hotshots past the gate," he sighs.

"Take me there."

"Your father will be at work all day. He told me to call when you woke, but I hadn't gotten around to it yet," she told him, folding clothes and handing them to him.

"Where will I go?" Peter asks her, taking the folded clothes and packing them into a duffel bag.

"I don't know. But until you find a way home, you'd better get away from here." She folds, he packs.

Henry pulls the cab over, just down the street from the large gates blocking access to the waterfront.

"Here we are," he announces, turning off the engine.

Olivia sighs, eyes scanning over the various guards. "Got a phone?" she asks, unsettled.

"A what?" he asks, confused.

She seems to digest this. "Oh," she adds. "Um, something to call someone with?" she asks, gesturing to her ear.

"You mean a cuff?" he responds, and unhooks a small plastic thing from his ear.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," she says hastily, taking it from him. She studies it a moment, unsure of what to do.

He sighs, and takes it back from her. "Here," and he clips it to her ear. "What rock have you been livin' under?" he whispers under his breath.

"Not a rock," she teases.

"Okay, now just push the button and say who you wanna call."

She does so and says, "Call Fringe Division."

He looks at her a moment, but says nothing.

A voice responds. "_Fringe Division_," it says.

Olivia clears her throat. "Olivia Dunham, please," she says, trying to make her voice lower.

"_One moment_." The device beeps twice.

"_Dunham_," a woman answers.

"Uh, hi. It's me," she says nervously, her voice back to normal.

"_Where are you?_"

"Just outside the port to Liberty Island."

"_What the hell are you doing? I helped you get out to get your boyfriend and go home, not get captured all over again!_" she whispers, angry.

"I didn't know where else to go. The Secretary has Peter hidden somewhere and this seemed like the best place to look!"

Liv was silent a while. "_Did you think to try his house? Peter's his son, not a prisoner_."

"He's more like both right now. Where does he live?"

"_I don't know! He's the Secretary of Defense, not a regular citizen! I can't just look up his address_," she hisses over the cuff.

Olivia closes her eyes and puts a hand to her forehead.

And then it hits her.

"Tell Broyles that you think the Secretary's in danger. I'm on the loose with a gun, and I openly expressed the desire to find him. Go to his house and see if Peter's there. If he is, I'll come and get him after you clear out."

"_But the Secretary's on Liberty Island_."

"Yes, but I might not know that. And I couldn't get past all the security, anyway."

"_And Broyles'll want a detail on the house after we leave_."

"Then send Peter out. Get him the message."

Liv pauses. "_Okay, we'll try it. Wait for my call about the address_." And then she hangs up.

* * *

"Sir, I believe the Secretary's in danger. I think we should check his home."

"_But he's not there, he's on the island._"

"But she doesn't know that. And if she did, she wouldn't get past security, let alone across the water. She'd go to his home, wait for him to return."

"_Then we'll tell him to stay until she's apprehended._"

"He has a wife. What if she's already there with her?"

"_Okay, Dunham. Take your team. And be careful._"

"Yes, sir. The address?"

* * *

"Peter, there's one more thing." His mother disappears from the room in which he awoke, the one with the wardrobe.

The bed is fairly normal, not an actual hospital bed but still adorned with all the machines and IVs. Peter lets himself sit down on it and finds it quite comfortable.

When his mother returns, she grasps something tightly in her hand. She holds it out to him, and he reaches before realizing just what his mother has offered to him.

It's a coin. A large silver dollar. His lucky dollar, the one he tried so hard to flip over his fingers as a boy.

"You gave that to me, the night he—the night you left. You told me you wanted me to have it if you didn't get better."

All he can do is nod, his words lodged in his throat. The tears well up, threatening to fall.

Her tears fall now, unlike before on the balcony. "But you did get better. And now I'm giving it back."

He holds it flat over his palm. Shaking his head, he offers it back to her. "I gave it to you for a reason."

She reaches out and folds his hand closed around it. "Take it. To remember a time when we were together."

He nods again, and pulls her into an embrace. The coin digs inside his fist, but he doesn't care. They hug for a long time, and both of them cry.

When they eventually pull apart, he takes the coin from where it's indented in his palm and flips it over his fingers with an ease that he never had as a boy.

Elizabeth watches and smiles.

And then the doorbell rings.

Lincoln stands at the front, as usual. Charlie and Liv stand behind, arms behind their backs.

The door opens to reveal a woman, aged but still radiantly beautiful.

"Mrs. Bishop? I'm Captain Lincoln Lee with Fringe Division. We believe someone who may be dangerous might try to come into your home. May we come in and secure the premises?"

She opens the door wider and allows the team inside. A man walks in the room, young, with brilliantly blue eyes. His hand tucks something into his pocket.

"Is my husband alright?" she asks worriedly.

"Your husband is fine, ma'am. He's on the island. But we believe that the suspect may come here," Liv says, and the man's gaze falls upon her.

He stares, and a look of recognition soaks into his features. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but thinks better of it. Liv tosses him a smirk before turning back to his mother.

"Has a woman come to your door at all today, blonde?" Charlie asks.

"No," Elizabeth answers. "No one at the door today." She turns back, seeing Peter. "This is my…nephew, Colin. He's visiting me from Detroit."

Lincoln nods. "These are agents Olivia Dunham and Charlie Francis. May we have a look around the house?" he asks.

"Of course," she agrees hesitantly.

Liv clears her throat. "May I use your restroom?" she asks.

Elizabeth nods. "Third door on the left," she says, pointing down a hallway.

Liv nods and walks in the direction of the bathroom. Peter smiles at her as she passes, but follows the others in the opposite direction.

In the bathroom, she presses a button on her cuff.

"He's here," she says in a hushed voice.

"_Are you sure?_"

"Blue eyes, brown hair, great smile?" she teases.

Liv can hear the smile in Olivia's voice, "_That's him._"

"Okay, what's the plan?"

"_We're parked around the corner. Send him out once you're gone._"

"And if he won't go?"

"_He will._"

She presses the button again, ending the call, and turns to flush the toilet. She flips on the sink and lets it run a moment before turning it off.

She opens the door to find Peter waiting in the hallway, arms crossed over his broad chest and leaning against the adjacent wall. He looks up as she exits, and takes a step towards her.

"Olivia?"

Liv smirks again. "Yes and no," she says quietly.

* * *

From where they're parked, Olivia can just make out the end of the driveway.

Two SUVs pull out, and turn towards them. Olivia ducks down in the backseat until they pass, just making out Liv's fiery hair in the driver's seat of the second vehicle, alone.

When they're gone, out of sight, the cuff beeps.

"_Your message has been delivered._"

Olivia breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you. But can I ask one thing?"

"_Shoot._"

"Why did you help me?"

There's a pause. "_I don't know. Maybe because I could tell you weren't lying. Maybe because you're, well, me. Maybe no reason at all._"

"Well, whatever the reason, thanks."

"_No offense, but I hope to never see you again._"

Olivia smiles. "Yeah, you too." And then the call's over.

Olivia slides off the cuff and hands it to Henry, who looks like he's just seen a ghost. Or, possibly, someone's alternate as they drive by.

"Who are you?" he asks, eyes wide as he studies Olivia's face.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she says with a laugh, and relaxes back into the seat.

He stares a moment longer, then turns away, shaking his head.

They sit in the cab for several minutes more in silence, waiting.

Olivia hears a noise from behind her, and turns back to catch a black town car with tinted windows pulling out of the drive.

"That's him," she tells Henry. "Go."

He starts the cab and pulls out, about twenty feet behind the black car. They follow it all the way back into the city before it finally pulls into an alley.

"Stop," Olivia orders, just outside the alley. "Stay here."

She climbs out of the yellow cab and walks towards the black car. She looks back from between the two, and the taxi's still there.

She pulls her hood up and approaches the car.

An older woman climbs out. She looks familiar, but Olivia knows they've never met.

"Olivia?" she asks.

"Yes," Olivia answers timidly.

She turns back to the car and nods. Peter steps out, and his eyes meet hers.

He moves toward her, and she meets him in the middle, hands at his cheeks. "Hi," she whispers, and the smile is involuntary.

"Oh, Olivia," he breathes, and pulls her into his arms, hood falling from her blonde hair. He closes his eyes and focuses only on her, how she feels back in his arms and how her warm breath hits his neck and it's all real, she's real, and he's got her.

He pulls back just slightly, still holding tight to her. "Olivia Dunham," he says, and turns back to the older woman, "meet Elizabeth Bishop. My mother," he announces, and he sounds proud.

Olivia steps forward and offers her hand, and remembers seeing a photo of her—or, the other version of her—and she's aged but she's still lovely, and she can just make out some features that are reflected in her son. "Mrs. Bishop, it's great to meet you."

Elizabeth takes the hand cautiously, "Dunham? As in _Agent_ Dunham, the woman who was just in my house?" she asks slowly.

The corner of Olivia's mouth tugs up in a wry smile. "Somewhat," she says, and Peter chuckles softly from behind her.

Elizabeth releases her hand and nods, turning to her son. "I love you, Peter. Never forget that."

He shakes his head and smiles sadly. "Thank you."

She turns back to the open door of the car. "Have a good life, you two. Be happy," and then she's in the town car and the door closes behind her. The car rolls forward and out of the alley.

Olivia turns back to Peter and takes his hand, pulling him in the direction of the cab.

He opens the door for her. She slides in first and he follows, sitting close.

"You must be Peter," Henry says, looking back at him in the rearview mirror.

"The one and only," he jokes, with a hint of irony that makes Olivia's heart ache.

"Peter," she warns, and he gives her an apologetic smile.

Henry just shakes his head and drives.

"Where to?" Henry asks, back on the road.

Olivia looks up from her and Peter's hands, held tight together atop her lap. "An opera house on the opposite side of town. Do you know it?"

"You mean the one with the glass ceiling?"

"Uh, yeah."

He nods and takes a right.

Olivia glances at Peter, who stares out the window, taking his last glance at the alternate universe. She squeezes his hand, and the corner of his mouth turns up, still facing out the window. She lifts and places a feather-light kiss against the back of his hand.

He turns to look at her, and she knows he's sad. She understands; even though his home isn't here, he can't ignore the fact that this is where he was born, where he originated. It's written in him, indelible ink on his heart. And while she sympathizes, she can't help but wonder if he considered staying.

And, as he always has, he reads the doubt right off her face and lifts his free hand to stroke her cheek, tuck a few stray pieces of hair behind her ear. He shakes his head, as if answering her unspoken question. He mouths the words, "_Never an option_," drops his hand from her face and turns his gaze back out the window.

Henry looks back in the mirror, and Olivia catches his eyes. "I think we have a tail," he says suddenly, cutting right through the moment of calm.

"What?" she snaps at him, more angry with herself for not paying attention.

"Two black SUVs, two cars behind and a row over."

And, sure enough, there they are. "How long have they been behind us?" Peter asks, looking out the back window.

"Maybe six, seven blocks. I didn't notice 'em before that."

"Figures, Walternate's got you followed," Olivia hisses.

"Who?" Henry asks, confused.

"Could they be Fringe Division? Maybe she couldn't cover for you," Peter suggests.

"No, there were government decals in the corner of every windshield. And the plates were different," Olivia recites, eidetic memory merely a convenience at this point. "These are definitely his. Henry, you can drop us at the next corner. We'll go the rest of the way on foot."

"You sure? They'll catch us easier on foot," Peter cuts in.

She turns to him, eyes full of something. Something serious. "I'm sure."

"Okay," Henry says from the driver's seat, and pulls to the curb.

Peter's out first, on the sidewalk holding the door. Olivia turns back to Henry, "If it helps, you'll probably never see me again," a smirk taunting her lips.

"Just glad you didn't shoot me," he teases back. "You better run."

Olivia slides out and throws him a rushed "Thank you!" before she pushes the door shut and joins Peter on the sidewalk.

"This way," she says, pointing.

They takes the first corner to get out of sight, and then, entwining fingers, they speed-walk and weave for several blocks.

Once they reach the street of their destination, Olivia glances around and the SUVs aren't anywhere to be seen.

"I think we're good," she says, and they walk on.

Suddenly, a screech echoes from behind them and one, two of the black vehicles turns onto the mostly empty street.

"Let's go," Olivia calls, pulling on Peter's hand. They sprint, less than a block from the opera house.

When they reach the doors, they're locked. "Dammit!" Peter yells, and Olivia pulls the gun from the pocket of her jacket. She aims and shoots out the lock, Peter kicking down the door.

The first SUV pulls up and two men climb out.

Olivia and Peter run into the opera house, the Secretary's men right behind them. Luckily, the large theater is empty.

Olivia sprints ahead of a sore, slower-than-usual Peter and stops center-stage.

_Focus_, she tells herself. _The fear. If this doesn't work, they take Peter._

Peter catches up to her, grabbing her arm, and asks why she's stopping. He's glimmering, but that's a good sign. The whole room is glimmering, but this time Olivia's in control. The door in the back bursts open.

Olivia takes Peter's hand. "Let's go home," she whispers.

She closes her eyes. _Home_, she thinks. _Let's go home._

She feels the fabric of the universe passing through her, slipping away. The men grow closer, but they're so blurry she doesn't even worry anymore.

And then Peter's lips are on hers. Caught somewhere between two worlds, Olivia's hand releases Peter's so she can reach up and wrap her arms around his neck.

Finally, Olivia feels solid, feels the solid ground beneath her feet. She pulls out of the kiss slowly, resting her forehead against his.

She's acutely aware of the other people suddenly in the room, but she just doesn't care. "Home," she whispers to him.

He laughs lightly, and her heart swells. "Home," he agrees, and she believes him.

Olivia turns her head slightly, and surveys the theater. Walter, looking teary-eyed but with a huge smile, has an arm around Astrid's shoulders; she looks about the same. Nick and Sally are holding hands, and James stands off to the side, looking a little awkward. Broyles stands at the back of the room, stoic but looking slightly relieved.

Peter lifts his head from Olivia's and also looks to the rest of their company.

"Well," Olivia starts, unwrapping herself from Peter but joining their hands once again. "It worked."

"Fantastic!" Walter murmurs, his voice breaking slightly.

And Olivia's not entirely sure if it's coincidental, Nick's doing, or a mixture of the two, but the entire room erupts into happy laughter.

* * *

**(A/N: Okay! Whoa, long chapter. Typing this was a bitch. But yay, Peter's home! Okay, the **_**next**_** chapter is the penultimate—or the second to last—chapter of this story. Kind of a summing up before the big finale. SPOILER ALERT: The final chapter is entitled "The Machine: Part Two". Sixteen chapters is a pretty good run, if I do say so myself. But don't fret! I am planning a sequel, unnamed as of present, which may or may not be season four-esque. See you soon…)**


	15. The Endgame

After Walter had checked Olivia out and she had relayed the details of her entire journey to their company, Broyles granted her a week off, as long as no urgent cases landed in their laps. And by urgent, he meant a 'Pattern' case; so, any case that belonged in Fringe Division.

Nick hugged Olivia before Broyles led the three out of the lab and on the way back to Massive Dynamic.

Walter had wanted to check Peter out, too, but he had politely declined. Walter didn't dare argue.

Astrid preemptively offered to take Walter home whenever and if ever he was ready, leaving Peter and Olivia free to go whenever they wished. They were still at the lab when the two wandered out.

Olivia felt Peter's hand slide around hers on the walk back to the car, and she didn't even argue when he insisted on driving. They chatted nonsensically throughout the drive, and back at the apartment they ordered delivery pizza and turned on a movie.

It all seemed so normal, somehow, just simply being together.

After the pizza had disappeared and the movie had faded into the background, forgotten, Olivia stood and pulled Peter to the bedroom. Slowly, they undressed each other, stopping when they remained only in their underwear. They slid under the covers and lay together, less on separate sides of the mattress and more melded in the center, creating a sort of vacuum of warmth.

Just the feeling of holding each other, or even being in the same room alone for what felt like the first time in weeks, it was all they needed.

Peter let his thoughts wander as he rubbed unconscious circles in Olivia's back, careful not to 'burrow'.

"'The beguiling Olivia Dunham beguiles,'" he said suddenly.

"What?" she asks, laughing lightly, vibrating against him.

He looks down at her head on his chest. "Something Walter said a long time ago."

"Oh." She looks down, away from him, at her hand tracing something into his hip.

"It's true, you know."

She doesn't look at him, but he feels her smile.

"Liv."

Her hand stalls, and she tilts her head back up again, meeting his eyes.

He sits up slightly, bringing her with him until they sit cross-legged, facing each other, the covers tossed around them.

"That night, at Massive Dynamic, before all of this madness, I told you that I had never met anyone who can do the things that you do, and I meant it."

"Peter…" she says, anxious.

He laughs. "I'm not done yet."

She stays quiet, waiting.

His hand goes to her cheek, and she leans into his palm, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"You are the strongest, most driven woman that I have ever met. And I have been sure, since the very moment you picked my sorry ass up in Baghdad, that you would cause me a lot of problems."

She laughs, eyes still closed. "Well, I try," she teases softly.

He laughs with her, and rubs his thumb across the rose of her cheek. Her eyes flutter open, emerald and olive-green jewels that make his heart pound. And he's never been more sure of anything.

"The one thing I was not expecting, however…" he pauses to smile at her, "was to fall in love with you. But, here we are."

Her smile envelops her lips, and she turns to place a soft kiss on the open palm of his hand. "Here we are," she agrees, and he knows instantly that he'll do anything to spend the rest of his life with this woman.

* * *

A man walks into a store, the bell on the door jingling as he enters.

He steps forward to the counter, and the man on the other side smiles politely.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"I'm looking for a Selectric. Model 251." His hands tuck into his pockets, the bag on his shoulder heavy with something.

The cashier's face falls instantly. He smacks a button on the register, and the drawer flies open. He scoops a key from the corner of the tray, and slams it down on the glass counter.

"It's in the back," he gruffs, having lost his earlier, lighter persona. He pushes the drawer shut, turns and limps away from the register on metal crutches.

The second man retrieves the key and passes the counter and the store's owner, not glancing in his direction.

The other man mumbles something he doesn't catch as he slides the key in the lock on a door. The handle turns, and the door swings open.

He steps in, walking toward a large desk with an electric typewriter sitting in the center of the room. The device sits in the middle of the desk, and a small, standing mirror sits off to the side, tilted to reflect the typewriter in the glass.

He drops his bag to the ground, something metal clanking against the cement floor.

He takes his time, feeding in the paper, and then types: "_First piece recovered. Escape successful. Infiltration achieved._"

On the paper, a new message appears below the first: "_Watch the team. Make sure they locate the other pieces. Your job is almost complete, Newton._"

**(A/N: Dun-dun-dunnn. Second to last chapter, check! The sequel, still unnamed, is progressing slowly. It may be awhile until I post it. But first things first, the finale. **_**That**_** should be up in the next week. Onward, ho!)**


	16. The Machine: Part Two

To Olivia, it had only been minutes.

But to Peter, it had been a lifetime. More specifically, her lifetime _and_ its agonizing end.

His brief time in the Machine had changed everything.

And while, somehow, he'd managed to get across the room before he'd flashed out of existence, Olivia had time enough to flip through the pages and pages of her memory, reliving in that block of thirty seconds everything that had brought them to this place, and still attempt to understand his reasoning to this…bridge.

They had woken slowly in his bed, wrapped together and drowning in sleepy contentedness.

She'd opened her eyes first, it was a given. And trapped in the heavy hold of his bare arms, she'd been happy to just lay there and watch him, still deep in slumber. Her smile was involuntary, now, as he'd stirred with a single sharp intake of breath and his eyes squeezing tighter yet, seeking a last moment of a dream she'd hear about later.

"Good morning," she'd whispered.

Only then did he open his eyes, the sight of her bathed in the early-morning sunrise better than any subconscious recreation.

"It is, isn't it?" he'd asked back just as quietly, taking the opportunity to pull her even closer. It wasn't much of a difference, they had already been pressed together, but Olivia sighed happily as her chest flattened against his, feeling the slow, steady murmur of his heart beneath her fingertips.

And they had said nothing more until their phones rang—simultaneously.

He'd wanted in the Machine immediately, but she'd tried everything to keep him out even knowing none of it would work.

She was forced to stand by idly as he rose up on the platform, snug in his special Massive-Dynamic-strength protective suit.

Walter had fussed about electro-conductive gel; she had made him promise to come out alive.

When he'd hugged Astrid, Olivia's heart broke a little.

While it may have been their only hope, the Machine may also be the very thing that takes him from her forever.

And it almost did.

He'd gone flying across the room like a rag doll, a simple toy that was flimsy and replaceable. She was crying out his name before he even hit the floor.

The hospital had perhaps been the most difficult of all, that day.

He lay motionless in the hospital bed, surrounded by monitors and IVs and they'd made him seem smaller.

And then she'd left. In search of a key.

She'd barely made it through her explanation to Sam Weiss before her heart was pounding so hard she had to call the hospital for an update. Nothing.

She pushed on, kept moving, following a man she still wasn't convinced was entirely sane. Not that she surrounded herself with sane people, but them she trusted. They were her team, her family. This man was an uncertainty. An unreadable card that had been shuffled into her deck with little warning.

But then they'd found it. Not that it was much to find.

Really, what they needed had been there the whole time, just underneath their noses.

It was her.

Though her picture on the prophetic scroll was less intimidating, she was equally afraid of its implications.

No one had said anything about the Other Side turning on their Machine first? Well, they also hadn't said anything about how—in some cosmic plan—her and Peter were indispensably connected.

Maybe it had always been the plan of the universe, or universes: the two of them together, fighting interworldly crime.

She was amazed that they had ever had time to go on dates.

But when the call came, Peter just up-and-walking-out of the damn hospital unnoticed. She'd cursed the nursing staff under her breath.

Which brought them back to Liberty Island, a focal point in both universes, now.

Peter had made his own way back, even through his rampantly varying surface memories. But once corrected, he seemed in tip-top shape. At least, as much as possible after a day like that.

It hadn't been long before he was on his way back to the Machine, this time accompanied by Olivia, his fate-chosen partner in crime.

They held hands, all the way to the base of the gargantuan metal God device.

Create or destroy. How very 'prodigal son'.

She squeezed his hand tighter as her eyes closed. While her main focus was on the task at hand, she paid close attention to Peter's hand in hers, and it seemed to strengthen her.

She opened it, just like the pictures had predicted. She prayed it wouldn't be as accurate in his case; the smoking eye sockets were not something she wanted to see, let alone help make even more possible.

But maybe fried eyes were better than the end result, Peter stepping out of the Machine and flickering out, like a candle.

Gone in a flash.

The only things left of him, a newly minted bridge between universes and an unfinished sentence.

It was those words that first tipped off Olivia that something was unusual.

As she stood, mirror-opposite of her alternate and Walter similarly dismayed, his voice took hold in her brain like a bad song on the radio.

Though she couldn't pinpoint any details, she knew something had changed, she had felt it.

_After all, how much could a new timeline change eidetic memory paired with perception-altering drugs?_

**(A/N: Don't hate me. I know, I know. Also keep in mind that I'm writing this after pulling an all-nighter. Very metaphor-heavy, I agree. But honestly, for a moment I thought I'd never start this chapter, let alone finish it. And it's not terrible, is it? Sidenote: references here are to '6:02 AM EST', 'The Last Sam Weiss', and 'The Day We Died'.)**

_**Oh my god, I'm actually done. All the work I put in to this story boils down to this. I suppose next on the agenda is to start undertaking the sequel. Maybe first, though, I'll finish 'Emilia'. You know, before I forget about it. Maybe take a break from Fringe, write some Castle fics. Ugh, I don't know. But thank you, so much. So, so, so much. You guys are amazing, you know? Keep an eye out for the sequel, if you want to continue.**_


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